Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner (Criminal Minds) Chapter 35

A little recap feels a bit appropriate.

Because once again you wake with a warm body pressed to you. Looking over, you blush.

“I really lack self control.”

This has definitely happened already.

~Last Night~

“I should have remembered sooner. I shouldn’t have forgotten. (Y/N) I’m-”

You quiet his apologies, kissing him again. Hotch’s hand slips into your hair. When you begin tugging at his jacket, he doesn’t need to solve that mystery. You want it gone.

Retracting, he can see the desire that’s clear on your face. The unfiltered love. You’ve been hoping for this far too long to sit around blaming him for something that was so out of his control. His jacket hits the ground so fast, and you practically pounce on him.

“It’s real. This is real. Is it real?”

There is so much running through your head.

You’re pawing at him, and he isn’t exactly complaining. You can’t do much but moan when your back connects with a wall. Your hands move to your own clothing, fighting to get rid of it. You only manage getting out of the shirt.

“Slow down.”

It’s a whisper, and you whine.

You really don’t want to. Lowering your hands, you finally get a chance to fully breathe. Hotch smiles at you.

“Are you that eager to get me naked?”

You can’t fight the blush, or deny his words.

“You’re such a child sometimes I swear.”

He enjoys teasing you too much. Hotch leaves a kiss right on your forehead.

“I love you.”

Just those words are enough to make you crumble.

You pull him back down for a kiss and he accepts eagerly. He smiles into the kiss as you begin leading him towards the bedroom. You both fumble up the stairs and the second you make it into the bedroom, you’re annoyed that he’s still in his suit. You’d only managed to get the jacket off.

He must pick up on your annoyance, because he smiles again. His fingers slip between the knot of his tie, and he loosens it, sliding it right out of the collar. You sort of stare at the action.

“Woah..”

He grins.

“What is it?”

“I thought that one hand tie removal thing was only in the movies.” He raises a brow, that grin still planted on his lips. You’re still admiring him, taking in the situation. You reach for him this time, and this kiss you share is slower, soft.

He welcomes it, hands settling on your hips. You’ve been longing for this the minute you came back. It’s still hard to grasp, because you were convinced that Hotch would never look at you that way again. It was painful, but the sheer happiness on his face when he talks about Jack and Hayley, it’s what has given you the strength. You pull back, licking your lips.

“I love you Hotch.”

He smiles, pressing a deeper kiss, one that you return, giggling when he takes you to the bed.

That night was everything that you’d hoped for. You had the love of your life back, he had his family. You couldn’t describe how blessed you were. When you wake the following morning it still feels like a dream.

You turn over in the covers and he’s laying right there. Dark hair, disheveled, but so very handsome. Your fingers run through the short locks appreciatively. The action makes him stir. His head faces you, eyes just barely opening.

“Good morning.”

Hotch’s sleepy voice greets.

You smile. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You didn’t run out this time, that’s a good sign.”

“I-In my defense I had just slept with my boss. I’m not that great at personal confrontation.”

He knows that. It was cute watching you get shy over something like this.

He brushes your hair to the side, admiring the red marks on your neck. He knows for a fact when you’re getting dressed today you’ll probably bypass them and ultimately get probed by Garcia about it. He can’t wait to see your reaction to that.

“Why are you grinning like that?”

“No reason.” He replies.

“Hmmm.”

You don’t believe him for a second. You look down. Lifting the blanket to take a peak.

“H-Hey, when did you get those boxers on?” You accuse.

“About round three when you were completely knocked out. I woke up to get you a drink, but you just mumbled about me being a beast and fell asleep.”

“O-Oh.”

You remembered that. Your cheeks are glowing. He really was a beast.

“We should get ready, we have work in two hours."

He’s right.

Although it’s his suggestion, he’s looking at you like he wants to stay in bed and go through a couple more rounds.

“Then we should really-w-what are you doing?”

He slides under the covers, and you figure it out when his hands gently grip your thighs.

“Shit..”

Your head drops back on your pillow, and you grip at the sheets.

“A-Aaron w-wait we really should..”

You can’t complete the thought. He’s kissing along your thighs. The closer he gets, the less you resist. When his lips finally land where you need them, you moan.

You are definitely going to be late for work. 

𝗕𝗢𝗠𝗕𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗔𝗨 ᥫ᭡ 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗜𝗗

˗ˋˏ ʚ♡ɞ ˎˊ˗ Spencer thinks you’re a total bombshell —confident, high maintenance, and so, so pretty. you find yourself similarly obsessed with your dorky, handsome genius.

you meet Spencer and call him beautiful you witness Spencer and Lila Archer you make Spencer jealous you hold Spencer’s hand after his abduction you come for a teasing visit your drunken flirting almost kills him you invite a struggling Spencer over for dinner your motorcycle jacket winds Spencer you and Spencer share a room in Alaska Spencer comforts you after a hard case Spencer gets his boyband haircut Spencer stands you up you take Spencer’s hand when he’s distracted you comfort Spencer on the brink of tears you’re jealous of Spencer and a girl at the bar Spencer reassures you that he likes your flirting Spencer loses his mind over your dress it’s Spencer’s fault when you get hurt Spencer tends to a bad wound you assure Spencer he’s your type you’re hurt by a rude police officer Spencer realises you really truly like him Spencer tortures you, for once don’t think I don’t like you you and Spencer have your first kiss Spencer calms you down when you’re nervous you and Spencer miss you first date Spencer sees you undone for the first time you freak out after being held hostage you’re obsessed with Spencer and his glasses Spencer takes care of you when you’re sick Derek catches you at Spencer’s apartment Spencer calls you a pet name for the first time you and Spencer are interrupted good luck Emily catches you and Spencer in a heated kiss you drunk brag about your new boyfriend you’re secure in your relationship you get your period Spencer likes that you’re high maintenance you get very hurt in the field Spencer watches over your recovery you have your first big fight, you can’t sleep Spencer allots time for your morning kisses you take the leap and ask the big question Spencer returns from prison Spencer struggles to adjust after prison you and Spencer talk about JJ

you comfort Spencer after Maeve

you find out that you’re pregnant together you show Spencer your new necklace you tell the team that you’re pregnant Hotch gives Spencer some paternal advice pregnant!you feel like you’re not yourself you have an angry hormonal meltdown pregnant!you falls down Hotch checks in on pregnant!you and Spencer your daughter is just like you, Spencer loves it Amy video calls you on a case Spencer is wrapped around Amy’s little finger Spencer and Amy take care of sick!you you and Amy visit Spencer in prison

Need You Tonight ao3

NSFW: oral sex male receiving, mating press, riding, rough sex, use of slut and whore (respectfully😣), soft dom and brat dynamic

just keep this sexy suit pic in mind.. ^_^ you’re acting like a brat and luigi tames you :D

dedicated to @diors002 hope u love xx also @fligniuz and @mangionebabymama because i admire you both

You've been eyeing him all night, wine glass in hand, pressed against his side like even a breath of space would be too much. The subtle heat from his body radiates through his tailored suit, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you every time you glance up, and he seems completely at ease, unaware of the way he makes your heart race, the way his mere presence stirs something deep inside you.

He leans down and brushes a kiss against your temple. “What’s the matter, baby?”

You tilt your head up, eyes heavy, lips brushing his jaw. “Need my man.”

He chuckles, soft and low, his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter. “We’re supposed to stay until eleven.”

“No,” you murmur, voice low against his neck as you press in closer. “I need you to fuck me.”

His breath catches just slightly. You feel the shift in him, subtle and calculated, as his eyes scan the room like he’s weighing the odds. Wetness pools between your thighs as you tug lightly at the lapel of his jacket, yearning to have him as close as possible.

“You want the bathroom, baby?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, his voice threading through the thump of the bass vibrating off the walls. “I’ll take you in there. Quick, messy, get it out of your system… then we’ll come back out and pretend nothing happened.”

You shake your head, and your voice comes out as almost a whine. “No. I need you in mating press.”

He blinks once. Slowly. Then that familiar look spreads across his face — part surprise, part heat, part wicked satisfaction. You know your words have lit something dangerous inside him.

“Jesus,” he mutters, hand gripping even tighter at your waist. “You’re not making it easy to be a gentleman tonight.”

“Don’t want a gentleman,” you say, fingers dragging down his chest. “I want you to fuck me so deep I forget my name.”

His exhale is deep, controlled. You know he’s already calculating — how fast he can get you both out of there, where the nearest exit is, how long he’s willing to wait.

“Alright,” he says, voice rough against your ear. “Five minutes. I’ll drive you home. You won't be walking tomorrow.”

At his words you bury your face in his chest with an excited smile, pulse wild.

“Good,” you whisper. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything tomorrow. Now hurry up and let’s leave, because I need your cock so bad, Luigi.”

Luigi’s hand slides down your back— slow, deliberate —fingers trailing until they glide over the curve of your hip. He gives your ass a firm squeeze, followed by a sharp smack that makes you squeal. Your fingers fist tight in his jacket, giggling as he leans forward again.

“Stop it, baby. You’re acting like a slut.”

“No I’m not, Gi,” you pout, batting your lashes up at him.

“I’m serious, I promised everyone I’d stay the whole night, and now you’re being whiny with me when I just told you I’m taking you home in five minutes.”

“Baby, we’ve been out for three hours already. I need you,” you whine, the buzz of the alcohol making your head spin as you hold both of his hands in yours and play with his fingers.

His gaze is dark, a mixture of patience and desire flickering in his eyes as he responds, voice low and steady. “Hey, I know. Listen to me, I just need to speak to the guys before I leave and then I’ll give you everything you need.”

“Promise?” you tease, eyes locked on his as you swing your interlocked fingers back and forth.

His jaw flexes, a muscle twitching as he exhales slowly, the corners of his mouth curling into a small, confident smile.

“Just be patient, bambina.”

You manage to behave for maybe three minutes after that — long enough to let him do the rounds, shake hands, act as though he isn’t walking around with your desperate little plea still ringing in his ears. But you see the way his hand stays firmly on the small of your back, how his grip tightens just a little too hard when someone makes a joke and you laugh too easily. He’s on edge, and you were the one who got him there.

Luigi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist as he walks you toward his car, fast and focused. You stumble a little in your heels, but he catches you like muscle memory, steady and firm.

“I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re this drunk.”

You smile up at him, eyes half-lidded. “I’m not that drunk, stop being so serious. You think I’m wasted just because you’re sober, Gi.”

By the time you’re both in the car — his hand resting on your thigh, the other on the wheel — you’ve already pulled your dress higher, letting your fingertips wander up the inside of his leg as you glance over at him, face displaying faux innocence.

“Baby,” he warns without looking at you, voice tight.

You smile, pretending not to hear — you know exactly what you’re doing. Your hand trails further, lightly cupping the growing bulge beneath his slacks, giving it the softest squeeze.

He groans under his breath, and shifts in his seat. “You’re gonna make me crash this car.”

You giggle softly, a teasing edge in your voice, but there’s an intensity in your gaze as you rub him slowly now— teasing, coaxing. “Don’t crash, Gigi.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, and he still refuses eye contact. “You testing me, huh, baby?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, leaning over, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you give his bulge another squeeze. “What, you don’t like it?”

He takes the next turn harder than you expect. The tires squeal. Your breath catches and your hand falters for just a second.

The car jerks into a sudden pull-off on a dark, empty stretch of road. There’s no one around except the two of you and the trees that surround you. You barely have time to process what’s happening — head still spinning moderately from the wine — when Luigi puts the car in park and leans over, his hand reaching across the console with a calm, steady force.

He speaks softly but firmly. “Out. Come on, baby.”

You blink in surprise, another drunk giggle spilling from your lips. “What?”

Your mind is ditsy, and you’re sitting there in front of him, dress hiked up your thighs, batting your lashes with only one thing on your mind.

Then— he’s leaning over the centre console, hands gripping your waist with a firm, commanding hold. Without a word, he pulls you from your seat and onto his lap in the driver’s seat. Your dress hikes up even higher as your thighs spread over his, and your panties graze his clothed bulge.

Luigi’s hands are heavy and firm, one gripping your ass while the other tilts your chin to make you look at him — demanding, but gentle. His hazel eyes are wild in the dark, low light spilling across his cheekbones and the curve of his mouth.

“You know you shouldn’t distract me while I’m driving,” he murmurs, voice low. “And you shouldn’t whine like a slut when I’m trying to be patient with you.”

You’re squirming now, grinding down without even thinking, but his hand smacks your ass hard— once, then again, harder this time. The sharp sting makes you gasp, clutching his jacket.

“Behave for me.” His nose brushes yours, and he pulls back a little to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. The contrast between his rough hands, his low voice and his sweet kisses is incredibly dizzying — you’re spinning because of more than just the alcohol now.

“Or I’m taking you back to the party and you can walk around there for the rest of the night with soaked panties.”

You choke out a moan, arms tightening around his neck, hips rolling against him like you don’t know what behave means.

He raises his brows, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” you breathe, rocking harder onto his bulge. “I just want your cock.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, and smacks your ass one more time— firm, delicious. Then he’s shifting you off him, back into the passenger seat like it’s nothing. You blink, dazed, as he adjusts himself behind the wheel.

“Seatbelt,” he murmurs after a pause, voice warm but laced with that soft authority that always has you feeling fuzzy inside.

You buckle it with shaky fingers, thighs pressed tight together.

The rest of the drive is silent, thick with tension. Every now and then you sneak a glance over, and Luigi’s jaw is locked tight, fingers tight on the wheel, bulge still pressing hard against the front of his pants.

You can only sit there, waiting in anticipation.

When he finally pulls up to his apartment and turns off the engine, he still doesn’t say a word— just opens the door, rounds to your side, and takes your hand. He speaks so quietly you almost don’t hear him, hand on your lower back as he’s guiding you in front of him. “Upstairs. Come on.”

You bite your lip but it doesn’t suppress the laugh that comes out, and you try not to stumble, but your movements are faulty in six inch heels. The apartment door barely clicks shut behind you before you’re kicking off your heels and pushing Luigi against the wall. You sink to your knees, fingers working at his belt like you’re being paid.

“Shit, baby,” Luigi mutters, dropping his keys on the counter, eyes dark and glittering with heat as he watches you. “Didn’t even let me get my shoes off.”

“Whatever, Luigi, I’m just finishing what I was trying to do for you in the car,” you say nonchalantly, looking up at him through your lashes as you free him from his pants, his cock already hard and thick in your hand. You feel yourself almost drool at the sight. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

He loosens his tie and groans at your desperation as you waste no time, lips wrapping around him eagerly. One hand grips the edge of the wall behind him, the other tangled in your hair as your mouth works him slowly — dragging your tongue along the underside, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on his face like you want to watch every twitch and falter.

“Yes, baby… That’s it — fuck, good girl.” His voice is strained now, hips twitching forward as your hands grip his thighs, greedy and eager. You bob your head, before pulling back to tease the tip. Your soft moans vibrate around his cock, and the groan it produces from him sends an insane rush of heat between your thighs.

Knowing what it does to him, you exaggerate pornstar-like moans over his shaft, licking and kissing along the veins. “Mmm — you like it when I moan on your cock, baby?”

The back of his head hits the wall with a soft thud as your mouth takes him deeper, working him with focused precision. He’s a picture of ruin in elegance in his tailored suit, jacket hanging open, shirt slightly wrinkled where your hands had tugged at it. The fabric hugs his shoulders, sharp against the curve of his body as pleasure ripples through him. His tie is slightly loose now, collar askew, and the flush creeping up his neck contrasts beautifully with the dark lapels framing his jaw.

“You having fun with this cock in your mouth, huh?” He grips your hair with both hands now, guiding you to take him further, although he knows it’s a struggle, of course. The shadows cast by the low lighting catch on his cheekbones and the faint sheen of sweat along his brow — he’s both wrecked and impossibly gorgeous. You enjoy the view as you attempt to take him even deeper.

“You gonna try and take me all the way? Yeah, baby? Fuck — my gorgeous girl,” he murmurs softly, moving his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the dripping mascara.

You hollow your cheeks and take him as far as you can— but you don’t manage further than just over halfway. The inches alone are difficult enough to deepthroat, but his girth feels as though he’s stretching your mouth to meet his size. You’re gagging like a whore, his precum and your spit spilling onto his slacks that neither of you had bothered to get him out of.

“Making such a mess, angel,” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face with one hand as his thumb continues to caress your cheek. You’re gazing up at him with sweet doe eyes, expression fucked-out and dreamy as your tears continue to force more mascara down your face. Luigi wipes away as much as he can — always the gentleman — but he loves the mess. To see you on your knees for him like this, starving for his cock, he wishes he could have you like this forever.

But he doesn’t want to cum yet.

“Shit— c’mere,” he breathes, groaning as he tugs you back by your hair to pull your mouth off him. Your lips glisten with precum, and he smacks the head of his cock over you twice.

You giggle like a whore, grabbing as much as you can in your hands that look ridiculously small beside the size of his member.

“Why’d you pull me off, Gi? I want your cum in my mouth,” you whine, straightening your posture on your knees as you switch to a handjob.

Luigi gazes down at you, pupils dilated and dark, hands still fisted in your hair. “Dolcezza. I thought you wanted mating press.”

“And that means you can’t cum in my mouth first?” You bat your lashes up at him, stroking and squeezing his length as he attempts to fight the grunts and moans that leave his throat.

His grip on your hair tightens, jaw clenching as he watches you. How did he get so lucky?

Luigi thinks for a moment as you continue to stroke him and press kitten licks to his tip. Then, he’s pulling you up off the floor, breath hot, cock glistening and twitching against his stomach. “I’m taking you to bed,” he groans, and suddenly you’re being swept off your feet and into his arms.

He carries you down the hall like it’s nothing, one arm under your thighs, the other across your back, and you’re giggling into his neck like a drunken angel.

Then, smack — his hand lands hard on your ass and you squeal, legs kicking instinctively around him.

“You excited, huh?” he says, smirking, as he squeezes the cheek he just punished. “Come here, bambina.”

You bury your face in his throat, squealing again when he bounces you in his arms just enough to make you wrap tighter around him. The motion presses your core flush against his hard length, heat crackling between your bodies.

He presses sweet kisses to your forehead as he carries you, and it feels like heaven in his arms.

“So you still want me in mating press, yeah?”

You hum, all warm and fuzzy against him, lips brushing his collarbone. “Please.”

He kicks the bedroom door open and tosses you onto the mattress. You bounce once, breathless and grinning with excitement. The room spins a little, and you wait in anticipation, watching Luigi kick off his shoes and remove his clothes one by one — his tie, his jacket, his shirt, then his boxers and his pants. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you— hands sliding up your thighs, shoving your dress higher, bunching it at your waist until the fabric is a wrinkled mess around your hips.

“You gonna let me fuck you in this dress like a slut, huh?” he grits out, dragging his palms up your bare thighs.

“Well, you didn’t give me time to take it off, so … I guess,” you shoot back, lifting your hips as he yanks your panties down with one hand and tosses them somewhere behind him.

“Okay, yeah,” he laughs sarcastically. “You’re the one who dropped to her knees the second we got home. You couldn’t wait, no? Starving for me.”

“I am starving,” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist to grind up against him. “So stop talking and feed me.”

You’re giggling again, and his mouth twists into another smirk — equal parts impressed and amused.

“Up,” he instructs, grabbing your thighs. “Higher — yeah, like that.”

He hikes your legs up over his shoulders, and without another word, lines himself up and drives into you in one sharp, brutal thrust.

You scream, back arching as he fills you completely — no easing in. Just raw need.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes locked on the way your mouth drops open. “You’re soaked for me. Been dripping since the party, huh?”

“No… mmph … since I first saw you put the suit on before we left,” you choke out, sprawled across the pillow, legs trembling as he sets a ruthless pace, thrusting deep, hips slamming against yours. You can barely process a thought — he’s got you folded under him in a perfect mating press, knees pressed up near your chest, his broad hands gripping your thighs so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

“This what you were craving, baby? Is this what you made me take you home for?” he grits through clenched teeth.

“Yes—yes, Luigi, please—”

He cuts you off with a hard thrust, making your words break into a cry. “Can’t form a sentence now? No? Too drunk on this cock, huh, bambina?”

“Mmhmm.” You shut your eyes, feeling every thrust so deep.

“That’s my beautiful girl — so tight, baby. This is what you needed, oh, that’s it.”

You nod helplessly, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes from the pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming way he keeps hitting that perfect spot deep inside you over and over and over.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, leaning forward to kiss you hard, then biting your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to watch your face twist in pleasure. “Taking me so fucking good, baby. This pretty pussy’s all mine to bring home, yeah?”

“All yours, Gi, mhmm,” you whimper, barely coherent.

“That’s it, angel, say it.”

“Oh, fuck, Luigi—I can’t—yeah, it’s yours—oh, baby, don’t stop—”

The sound he makes is heavenly, somewhere between a whine and a groan, as he pounds into you even harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room. His grip on your thighs tightens as he keeps you pinned in place.

“You wanna cum, baby girl?” His voice is low, a taunt now. “Tell me.”

You bite your lip hard, whining, desperate. “Please, baby.”

Your hips jerk up, chasing every thrust, every ounce of friction. “Please, Luigi— fuck, I’m so good for you, please—”

His eyes narrow, lips pressed together. “Cum for me, beautiful. Come on, let go for me — that’s my girl.”

The second the words leave his mouth your entire body goes taut, then shatters beneath him, your orgasm crashing through you so hard you’re screaming his name. “Fuck, Luigi — oh my God.”

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release, watching every twitch, every cry. “Gonna let me cum inside, angel? Hm?”

“Yeah, baby, I want it all — oh fuck, give it to me—”

And then his fingers are digging into your hips, thrusts faltering as he spills into you with a guttural moan, collapsing over you, breathless against your neck.

You’re both shaking, tangled in each other. And even as he catches his breath, he’s pressing kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, murmuring against your skin:

“My perfect fucking mess… Look at you, baby… Still trying to sass me when you can’t even talk. Makeup all down your face. I need a picture when we’re done.”

You laugh softly, dazed. And then you pause as he pulls out and rolls over to lay beside you. “We’re not done?”

He chuckles. “No, I want you like this now.” He sits up against the headboard, having only just caught his breath, and pulls you into his lap effortlessly. You squeal, laughing through the aftershocks, your body light against his chest.

Then his hand comes down hard on your ass again, making you jolt and squeal as he laughs, holding your hips to keep you perched over him.

“Still got the energy to laugh, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Didn’t fuck you hard enough.”

You pout, grinding against him lazily, his cum seeping out of you with your own release over his hardening length. “You’re obsessed with me,” you mumble, breath hitching as you move against him, your sensitive body already aching for more.

He hums, cupping your ass in both hands now, guiding you to grind slow and deep. “Can you blame me, baby? My cum’s dripping out of you and onto my cock, but you’re still whining like you haven’t had enough.”

“I haven’t,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as you press your forehead to his. “I want more, Gi… I want it again.”

He tilts his head, a slow smile spreading across his face, and his dimples make your heart flutter. “You gonna cry if I don’t give it to you?”

You nod, grinding down harder now, lips parted, hands clutching his shoulders like you’re trying to anchor yourself.

“Then bounce on me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and coaxing. “Come on.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Without answering, you reach between you, guiding him to your entrance again, fingers shaky with anticipation. He watches you intently the entire time, his hazel eyes gleaming like he’s memorising every twitch of your lips, every tremble in your thighs.

As you sink down, inch by inch, your mouth falls open, a broken gasp catching in your throat.

“F-fuck, you’re too big,” you whine, the stretch burning. “Gi, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he says softly, hands stroking up and down your back. “You’ve done it before. You’ll do it again. Take it all, baby girl, come on.”

You keep easing down slowly, until he’s fully seated inside you and your body’s shaking from the stretch. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, your vision blurring as you bury your face into his shoulder.

“My girl,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “I know it’s difficult, baby, but I knew you could take me. So tight — your pussy was made for me.”

You whimper, hips starting to move — slow at first, then faster, rougher as desperation creeps back in. He lets you grind and ride him, lets you chase the rhythm you need. But your thighs are starting to feel sore from the first position, and when he senses your legs starting to give, he wraps his arms around you and shifts.

Suddenly, you’re flat against his chest and he’s doing the work — hips snapping up into you with brutal, deep thrusts that have you screaming, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He smacks your ass again, rough and fast, one hand gripping your hair, the other cradling your ass as he fucks up into you from below, hitting that spot so perfectly it makes your entire body shake.

“So loud for me, cara mia,” he murmurs in your ear, as you’re moaning helplessly into his neck. “Everyone’s gonna think you’re a whore.”

“Only for you, Luigi,” you gasp, clinging to him.

He laughs softly, kissing your forehead, his nose nuzzling yours.

“My whore, yeah? Just for me?” he coos, voice breathless and tender even as his thrusts continue to hit your spot devastatingly hard.

Your walls flutter around him, overwhelmed, close again — your body begging for another release you can barely hold off.

“You gonna cum again for me?” he asks, kissing your temple as he pounds into you. “Gonna make a mess all over me?”

“Uh-huh—oh fuck, Luigi, I can’t—please—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, soft against your ear. “That’s my baby girl. Cum on my cock.”

And you do — with a sob, a full-body tremble, your moans muffled against his shoulder as your orgasm takes you hard and fast, crashing into you like a wave.

He holds you through it, kissing your forehead, caressing your hair. “That’s it, princess, I love you — so perfect for me,” he murmurs, buried deep inside you. “Want you like this forever.”

And with the way your body clings to him, wrecked and trembling and blissed out — you wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else either.

You’re still pulsing around him, a limp mess slumped over his chest when he lifts you off his cock with a low groan, your slick dripping between your thighs. He cups your face in one hand, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and leans in to kiss you — slow and deep — before he murmurs:

“On your knees, baby. One more.”

You slide off his lap without a second thought, sinking to the floor like you belong there. His cock is flushed, wet, still painfully hard. You take him into your mouth with a moan, tongue swirling around the tip before you sink down, swallowing him deep, your hands wrapped tight around the base.

Luigi’s head tips back against the headboard, one hand tangled in your hair, guiding you just how he likes — slow at first, then faster, sloppier. You moan around him, and the vibration makes his thighs tense.

“Giving you everything you need tonight, beautiful. You happy with my cock back in your mouth, yeah?” he breathes out, eyes flicking down to watch his length move between your lips. “Treating that big cock so well, fuck, baby…”

You look up, drool and precum spilling down your chin, and hum your answer as he thrusts into your mouth harder. You can barely breathe, but the praise alone makes your pussy clench. You adore this — the weight of him on your tongue, the heat of his body, the way he sounds when you’re the one doing this to him.

He pulls back just before he gets too close, and your lips chase him without thinking. “Open,” he pants, stroking himself now with fast, tight fists. “Stick out that tongue, baby.”

You obey instantly, eyes wide, tongue out, face tilted up for him like an offering.

“Amore... sì, così— la mia puttana perfetta, solo mia.” Luigi groans something in Italian — low and desperate — and then he’s spilling over your tongue, thick ropes of cum painting your mouth, your lips, dripping down your chin. You moan eagerly, swallowing some of it, letting the rest sit filthy and warm on your skin.

“Fuck—fuck,” he growls, still twitching in his hand as he strokes out the last few drops, dragging his thumb across your lips to smear it messier.

You swallow again, licking your lips with a smug little smile. “Told you I was hungry.”

“Come here, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice soft now. “Give me a kiss.”

You crawl back into his lap and he pulls you in close, kissing you slow and sweet, tasting himself on your tongue with a quiet groan. His arms wrap around you, hands warm on your back, and he holds you there for a moment—just breathing you in.

Then he stands, lifting you — your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. You squeal, laughing, hands in his curls as he bounces you once in his arms, your bodies still buzzing from the events of the past hour.

“I love you,” you murmur into his neck, voice muffled and dreamy.

He smiles against your skin, kissing your temple. “I love you, my baby. Even when you’re acting like a whore in public.”

«─────────── « ⋅ ✯ ⋅ » ───────────»

*.* hope u liked

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Chapter One

The rejection email sat in my inbox like a tiny grenade, waiting to explode.  

“Thank you for your submission, but we are unable to include your work at this time…” 

I didn’t need to read the rest. They were all the same—polite, distant, and devastating. I hovered the mouse over the delete button, as if making it go away would somehow turn back time. 

I slammed my laptop shut instead. The motion sent a jar of brushes teetering off the edge of my desk. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter, paint-streaked handles rolling and scattering across the floor.

I let out a frustrated breath, eyes flickering towards the half-finished painting on the easel. The colors were bold—too bold. The swirls of blue and gold clashed in a chaotic explosion of pigment that seemed to scream without words. It felt just like my emotions. It felt like me: all over the place and out of control. Somehow too much and not enough at the same time. 

I groaned and crouched to gather them, but my knee bumped against the easel and it was all I could do not to let it go flying to the floor as well. A smear of blue paint ended up on the cuff of my sweater, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It was just another thing in my surroundings to remind me of what a mess I am.

The knock on my apartment door broke the suffocating silence to snap me out of my self-pity spiral.  

“Open up, starving artist. I brought sustenance.”  

I straightened, brushing stray hairs out of my face, and shuffled to the door. I didn't bother checking the peephole — who else would show up unannounced with that much swagger?

His voice was unmistakable: smooth, teasing, and just a little too confident.   

I couldn't help but smile as soon as I opened the door. There he stood, Luigi Mangione, my best friend and occasional pain in the ass. His Adidas jacket was slung over one arm, and his dark hair was artfully disheveled in a way that probably took no effort at all. In his free hand, he held a bag from my favourite bakery.

“You look…” He tilted his head, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Unhinged. Have you slept?”  

“Hello to you too,” I muttered, stepping aside to let him in.  

With the scent of sugar and butter trailing behind him, he waltzed into my apartment with the kind of casual confidence I'd never quite mastered. As he passed, his hand brushed my shoulder, warm and grounding. Then he placed the bag on my tiny kitchen counter and tossed his jacket over the back of my desk chair carelessly. 

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice tinged with mock concern. His fingers reached out to pick at a paint stain near the elbow of my hoodie. “You look like you’ve been on a three-day bender. Did you finally lose it and paint with wine?”  

“No. Wine is expensive.”  

“Fair point.” He handed me a croissant and perched himself on the arm of my threadbare couch, kicking off his sneakers like it was his second home. 

I took a bite, grateful for the distraction, but his eyes stayed on me, too sharp and perceptive for my comfort.

“What happened this time?” he asked, leaning forward. His tone had softened, but his gaze was steady—like he could see right through me even when I didn't want him to.

I hesitated. Lu was my best friend, but his world was light-years away from mine. It wasn't just the money, or the confidence, or the way he moved through the world like he belonged everywhere. It was the ease with which everything seemed to fall into place for him. Like he'd been handed a map at birth, while I was still wandering in circles, looking for the starting line.

He had more charisma than anyone should be allowed, the right connections, and an aura I couldn't replicate. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this tiny apartment, surrounded by unfinished projects and an inbox full of rejection emails. It felt like trying to explain a snowstorm to someone who lived in a desert. I wasn’t sure he’d understand. Still, I gestured vaguely towards my closed laptop.  

“They rejected me again,” I said, forcing the words out. “Apparently, I’m too ‘experimental’ for the gallery scene. Whatever that means.”  

Lu's brows knit together, an expression so out of character it almost made me laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Your work is incredible.” He held my hand and pulled me towards him, making me plop down heavily on the couch. “Those idiots wouldn’t know talent if it slapped them in the face.”  

I snorted, and a bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Thanks, but I don’t think slapping people is part of the artistic process.”  

“Maybe it should be.” He grinned, but there was a softness in his eyes and a hint of admiration that made my chest ache. He tapped my knee gently in that reassuring manner of his. “You’re going to make it, you know. One of these days, they’re all going to be begging for your work.”

His words landed with more weight than I expected. I felt them sink in, but I didn't know how to respond. The sincerity in his expression caught me off-guard.

His hand rested on my knee, tender, and solid. It made me want to believe him—to think that one day my paintings might be hanging in galleries, admired by the same people who rejected me now.

“I mean it,” he said, quieter. His thumb brushed against the seam of my jeans, an absentminded motion that somehow steadied me. “I'm serious, Catherine. You've got something special, and one of these days it's all going to click for them. You'll show them.”

I turned back to the easel so I could blink away the wetness in my eyes, brought on by the flutter of hope. But when my gaze drifted back to the blue and gold monstrosity laughing at me from its perch, suddenly the lump in my throat grew to the size of a football. How could I show them how good I could be when I didn't even know how to make it right?

I got up, avoiding his gaze, and busied myself collecting the brushes I'd dropped before. “It's just… it doesn't feel enough. I feel like I'm always halfway there, but can never get it right.”

“Maybe it's not about getting it perfect. Maybe it's about… Getting out of your own head and letting go.” I heard Lu getting back up and crossing the room in a few steps. He crouched beside me to take a hold of my chin and make me look at him. “Remember that mural you did in college? The next day you freaked out because you hated it, but it’s still all over social media! People love your work because it's you. That's what they’re going to see eventually, I promise.”

His smile was gentle, without a trace of teasing. I buried my face in his neck and his arms surrounded me.

The pang of envy hit me unexpectedly, sharp and unwelcome. Everything came so easily to Lu, from charming strangers to walking into a room like he owned it. Even now, standing in my cluttered apartment wearing a five-year-old sweater and looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, he came across as someone who could be in a penthouse somewhere, sipping champagne and making business deals with powerful people. Meanwhile, here I was, hoping the stupid croissant wasn’t my last meal before rent came due.

I knew he was being sincere, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't quite understand what it was like to fight for every inch of progress. To be told you weren't enough over and over again until you started to believe it. But I didn't say that. I didn't want to ruin the moment.

“I'm gonna need you to repeat those words every now and then, okay?” I said, breathing deeply to shove my internal pity party away. “You know, to balance out all the rejections…"

When I pulled away from his embrace, he kissed my forehead lightly. “I will, anytime you need to be reminded of it.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said lightly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be sure to let the art snobs know you’re on my side.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, flashing me another familiar grin. “Somebody has to keep you from becoming a tragic artist cliché.”

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my chest eased just a little.

Then his phone buzzed, and everything shifted. He glanced at the screen and groaned.  

“Oh, come on, not again…” He answered the call, putting it on speaker.  

“Luigi!” his mother’s crisp, aristocratic voice filled the room. “Have you given any thought to who you’ll bring to the anniversary dinner? It’s next weekend, and you cannot show up alone. You know how that looks.”

Lu rolled his eyes at me. The corners of his mouth were pressed into a thin line when he got up with stiffening shoulders to pace the room. “I was actually planning to—”  

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on being so difficult. We’ve been nothing but patient with you, and this is how you repay us? By embarrassing us in front of the entire family and our partners? Do you have any idea what people will say? I mean, for God's sake, Luigi—”

As his mother droned on, Lu ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. The usual easy smile was gone, replaced by a tension that rarely showed on his face.

I raised an eyebrow at him. He usually brushed off family drama with a joke, but this seemed to cut deeper.

He hit the mute button, letting out a long sigh. “See what I have to deal with?” he said to me, exasperated. 

“Getting a date sounds like a you problem,” I smirked. “Good luck with that…”  

My words were casual, trying to lighten the mood, but my gaze lingered on him. The frustration in his eyes wasn't just annoyance—it was heavier, like he was carrying the weight of years of this.

He let out a dry laugh. “Thanks for the support.”

I shrugged. “You could always just tell her to back off, you know.”

He didn't answer, but the flicker of something in his expression—regret? Resignation? — made me feel like maybe I'd crossed a line.

Before I could say more, he unmuted the microphone. “Fine, Mother. I’ll find someone you’ll approve of.”  

“You’d better. And make sure she’s… respectable. Someone worthy of the family name. Honestly, Luigi, do try to act like a Mangione for once. We've given you everything, every advantage, and all we ask is for you to do your part and stop being troublesome.”

The call ended with a sharp click, leaving a silence that felt too loud. 

Lu stared at the phone for a moment before setting it down on the counter with more force than necessary. His fingers drummed against the countertop, his usual ease replaced by a restless energy. 

“Wow,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “That was… intense."

“That's just how she is,” he replied with a shrug, as if It wasn't that big of a deal. He flopped back onto the couch, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. “She wants ‘respectable.’ What does that even mean? Respectable by whose standards? Am I supposed to find someone who quotes Shakespeare while doing charity work in pearls?”  

“Or,” I suggested, nudging his leg with my foot, “you could skip dinner altogether.”  

“Tempting,” he said, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “But no. If I don’t show, she’ll send an army of matchmakers after me. Last time, it was someone who thought a ‘fun date’ was discussing the stock market.”  

I giggled, imagining him squirming through that nightmare. “Lu, you don't have to jump just because she snaps her fingers. You're a grown man.”

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “It's more complicated than that.”

“It is?” I asked before I could stop myself, curiosity piqued.

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. 

I wanted to push further, ask what he meant by that. But there was something in the sudden darkness of his demeanor that stopped me. There was something he wasn't telling me, but I didn't know how to ask without possibly making things worse.

With a resigned huff, he shifted, laying his head on my lap. It was a familiar gesture, one he'd done countless times before whenever he sought comfort but refused to admit it.

Instinctively, I began to play with his curls, twirling the soft strands around my fingers. The rhythmic motion seemed to soothe him, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed.

“You're too good to me, Cate,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” I teased, gently tugging on a particularly stubborn curl.

He chuckled softly. The weight of his frustration seemed to lift, replaced by the comfortable silence that often settled between us.

After a while, I broke the quiet. “So, about this anniversary dinner… Any ideas on who the lucky ‘respectable’ date might be?”

He let out a humourless laugh. “If I had someone, don't you think I'd have mentioned it by now?”

“Okay, fair.” I paused, a mischievous thought creeping in. “You know, if you're desperate, I could always dust off one of my old dresses and pretend to be your doting girlfriend for the night.”

His eyes snapped open, and he tilted his head to look up at me. “That’s… insane.”  

“It’s genius,” I corrected.  

“It’s insane,” he repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’d really do that?

“Of course,” I said, giving his hair a gentle ruffle. “It sounds fun. Plus, I owe for all the croissants.”

The tension in his shoulders eased visibly. “You, in a fancy dress, pretending to be my girlfriend? Now that's something I'd pay to see.”

“Hey, I clean up nicely,” I shot back, feigning offense.

Lu's eyes softened. “Do you, now?”

Before I could respond, he reached out to cup my face with his hand. His thumb brushed gently against my cheek, moving in a slow arc, tracing a line that left warmth in its wake. 

The sudden unexpected touch sent a shiver down my spine. I froze, not sure what he was up to, until he pulled his hand back with a smug grin. 

“You're wearing your art again,” he said, holding up his thumb to reveal a faint cobalt smear.

I blinked, then let out a nervous laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

His hand dropped back to his chest. His smile came a second too late, gaze lingering on me like he wasn't entirely sure whether to laugh or say something else entirely. But then I saw the familiar playful glint return to his eyes. 

“I guess that means I'll have to keep an eye on you during dinner. Make sure you don't end up wearing the hors d'oeuvres too,” he laughed. 

“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That would really make you look experimental.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Hey, as long as you promise not to spill your hundred dollar wine on my fancy dress...”

“Fine,” he said with a cheeky laugh. “Just don’t fall in love with me. That’s not part of the deal.”

“Pfft. As if.” I swatted at his arm, grateful for the tension finally breaking into our usual banter.

As we laughed, we stayed like that on the couch—close, steady, familiar. Just like always.

𓇼 Sea Ya⋅˚₊‧⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TWs: Frat boys™ . Correct spelling of Hawai'i (Hawaii) . Reader's kinda manic sorry lol . Push And Pull dynamics . Thats it .

When you first moved to Hawai’i, you wanted to escape the loud and obnoxious masses that slowly began tearing holes in your peace's angelic fabric.

You had just graduated college, and with the sudden infiltration of Hawai’i content on your Pinterest board and Instagram explore page, you took one deep breath and fell back onto your bed. The pale white drywall stared back at you, whispering taunts of island life and sweet, succulent sunshine peeking through your open windows at seven in the morning.

Before you traded your life of concrete skylines and endless traffic, you had a love interest…at least you think you did. You had a bit of a push-and-pull dynamic, flickers of fleeting affection sustaining the both of you enough to satisfy the invisible craving.

Your rubber soles would thump and squeak down the halls, fresh rainwater dampening wherever you stepped as your hair suffered from the cost of the heavy shower. To make matters even worse, your roommate sent a text mere seconds prior, telling you to stay as far away from your shared dorm as possible due to the presence of a new…guest.

Great. Fucking, amazing.

You huffed, your soaked beige cardigan dripping the harsh reminders of your circumstances down your wrists as you dropped your hands to your sides. Defeat. Heavy with melancholy and anger, you decided to sit down wherever you were standing.

Your jaw clattered, your sensitive teeth chat-chat-chattering against their upstairs neighbors as you fought off the urge to strip away your winter clothes right there. All you could feel was the hefty load of freezing wool pressed against your chest, adding more weight to the heaviness of your heart.

It wasn’t until you heard a low amalgamation of voices— varying tones and depths rounding the corner as the group dispatched in separate directions, each seeking out the warmth and comfort of their beds after getting caught up in the frosty rain. Some had umbrellas, and some likely forgot theirs early in the morning in a desperate rush to classes.

You paid them no mind, your phone loosely held in your hand as your body shook from the cold’s constant nipping at your skin. It wasn’t until the voices filtered into silence that you realized; a pair of boots had stopped stomping next to you.

You looked up with what you now assume to have been the most helpless look known to man— wet lashes and quivering lips as frostbite possessed your facial features.

“Oh! My god, are you…okay? Where’s your umbrella, you’re soaking…” The stranger said, his eyes mulling over your darkened clothing and how you shivered on the floor.

He was tall with sculpted muscles, the kind that you could almost see through any thick and heavy cotton sweater. He was pale in the face but cupidly at the cheeks, his nose a charming shade of cherry.

“My roommate kicked me out for the night. She’s hooking up with someone and I can’t change because all of my fucking things are in my dorm,” you huffed, trying your best to calm your nerves while you stared up at the man.

“Damn, that sucks…Uhhh,” he began, looking around the empty corridor as if searching for some sort of solution to reach out and grab. “You can come to my dorm if you want. I have a heater and I can give you some clothes to change into. I just don’t want you to catch a cold or anything.”

You thought for a moment— and the longer you seemed to wait, the more your amygdala froze over and rendered itself useless. Everyone who had ever taught you in your life seemed to unite under one common phrase, “don’t follow strangers.”

But you couldn’t sense any malice in his tone. There was no impish malevolence or hellfire in his words that tripped the fire alarm in your brain. So you know what, what the hell. 

Sure.

“Uhh…sure. I’m freezing my ass off, that’s so nice of you,” you said, immediately scrambling to your feet. He nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face as he gestured his head in the direction down the hall.

You followed next to him, the icy silence wedging itself between you two with every single step you went without speaking. It wasn’t intentional, you just didn’t know him that well.

“Oh, I’m Luigi, by the way,” he said, giving you a glance with a rather boyish smile.

You nodded, exchanging names and majors with the young man as he told you all about his time in the Levine hall tinkering his life away. His voice carried an air of confidence, his smooth tone glossing over the curves and wrinkles of your mind like warm water.

“But yeah, I’ve been using the 3D printer a lot…been making a lot of little things, so please don’t be alarmed when you see my dorm,” he chuckled. He pulled a keycard from his wallet in his back pocket and slid it in front of the door handle of his dorm.

A tiny beep sounded through the hall, a little green light flashing thrice before he pushed open the sleek metal handle. A gentle gust of warm air welcomed you, followed by the smell of oak wood and the faintest tinge of cologne and aftershave as you stepped into the tiny space.

“Yooo, Pepper,” an unfamiliar voice said, a young man hanging halfway off his bed as his head nearly touched the glossy wooden planks of the floor. “Did you make me my thing?” He asked, his gaze glued to the ghostly hue of his screen.

“Nah,” Luigi chuckled before reaching into his back pocket and tossing a little Perry the Platypus in the direction of his roommate.

“Good looks, man,” the other man beamed, finally turning off his phone and doing a full crunch to sit up on his bed, only to finally see your shivering form standing in the doorway.

“Holy shit, what did you do to her?” He chuckled, his brows shooting up in concern and shock.

“I didn’t do that, I don’t even know what happened,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders with a brief raise of his brows as well. “Her roommate kicked her out so she could get some…interesting moral compass…”

The other man chuckled, a cheeky grin on his face as he turned to face you. “Is your roommate Stacy? Stacy Chin? Like… Five-three, Asian, hair always back in a stupid fucking ponytail?”

You paused, your face contorting into slight confusion as your head tilted to the side.

“Uh…yeah, that’s her, why?” You asked.

“NO FUCKING WAY.” He shouted, letting out a loud cackle that strongly resembled the squawk of a threatened mother goose. “DUDE. Pep, she’s with Henderson!”

“HENDERSON!? OF ALL PEOPLE? HENDERSON?” He gasped, a wide grin on his face as his hands frantically searched each drawer in his shared closet while he joined his roommate in his laughter. “Is that why he’s been ducking us?”

You had never felt more confused in your life. Two young men before you conversed about someone named Henderson, which you presumed was his last name because what mother would name their child such a thing? 

“Yo, pneumonia gorgeous, tell your roommate to return our boy, please. He’s missed every single family dinner and keg wars. He’s not being very sigma right now,” he giggled, shooting a glance in your direction with a quick upward nod of his head. 

Apparently, your name was pneumonia now.

“Oh I'm sorry, I’m Logan,” He added, a hand over his chest in a momentary pardon before Luigi handed you a rather large monochrome Adidas hoodie and some white gym shorts that were sure to hang off your hips if you didn’t utilize the drawstrings.

You weren’t really sure how to respond, giving Logan a polite nod with a slightly frightened smile. Oh how forward an excited man could be.

“Uh…where should I change?” You asked, glancing around the dorm in frantic search of a bathroom. You didn’t want to walk all the way to the communal bathroom just to change, and it didn’t exactly seem smart to walk all the way around the world with no bag and a handful of sopping wet clothes.

“Maybe in the closet?” Luigi suggested, leaning over slightly and sizing up the remaining space in the small walk-in. When he gaged the available space, he glanced at you, then back and forth between the closet and your form before nodding.

“Sorry about the mess…SOMEONE doesn’t wanna do his laundry,” he hinted, widening his eyes and side-eying Logan.

“Fuck you,” Logan said with a brief flash of his middle finger.

Luigi chuckled, making his way away from the entryway of his dorm and crashing down onto his bed.

“I won’t look, but Logan’s weird, so I can’t promise anything for him…” he joked, laying flat on his stomach with his face buried in his pillows.

You sighed internally, retracing your life choices and trying to figure out what led you to slum it out with two strangers in their dorm room while you changed in their raggedy old closet. It was dark and faintly smelled of cologne and marijuana, but you were grateful to finally peel the layers of freezing-cold clothing off of your body.

When you emerged from the dark closet, a pile of clothes in your hands, the first thing you did was step further into the dorm, standing in the good-sized gap between Logan and Luigi’s bed.

“Do either of you guys have like, a plastic bag for me to put these in? I have no idea how long Stacy’s gonna take,” you sighed.

“Don’t worry, it’s Henderson. Knowing him, you’ll be back in your dorm in under thirty seconds” Logan laughed.

“Ignore him, he’s evil,” Luigi giggled, shushing Logan briefly before turning over and sitting up, grabbing a UPenn canvas tote bag from the leg of his bed’s frame and walking over to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you smiled, placing your clothes in the rough beige bag.

“No problem. You can stay here for a bit if you want, I’m almost so positive they’re going to take…oh my god, they’re gonna take forever,” he sighed, running his hands across his face like he could feel the grey hairs sprouting on his head. “Logan, he’s not gonna be at the bar crawl.”

“This fucker misses EVERYTHING! Pneumonia, PLEASE tell Stacy to release this man’s balls, I’m BEGGING YOU!” Logan shouted, visible distress on his face as he gripped his tufts of brown hair.

You chuckled quietly, their shared sense of agony over one absentee from their planned bar crawl tickled your heartstrings a little. It was so silly in the most unserious way possible.

You got comfy on the floor, your knees meeting your chest as you rested your arms around your legs. The steady warmth of their dorm helped bring feeling and comfort to your numb skin— coziness washed over you as you patiently waited for Stacy to text you the signal that it was okay to come back in.

While you sat on the floor, you examined Luigi’s side of the room. Littered with 3D-printed figures ranging from Pokemon to random shapes, his desk looked exactly like what you would imagine some sort of geek would have. 

Organized, tidy, and almost completely clear with the exception of a pair of browline glasses, a few stray papers, and a little Breloom figurine. How cute.

The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the old heater, working double-time to pump a steady flow of heat into the shared space. You hummed to yourself, letting time pass you by as you scrolled on your phone.

An hour turned two, and two turned three as you slowly relaxed more and more on the floor. 7:37 at night.

Ding!

‘ ok ur good he just left ‘

“That’s Stacy. Bye, guys! Thanks for letting me stay, I was literally gonna die out there” you chuckled, standing straight up and waving to each of the frat brothers. They waved their goodbyes in return, Luigi paying just a little bit more attention compared to Logan before you closed the door behind you, listening for the electronic whirr of the lock.

And that’s how you met Luigi. While your first impressions of each other were equally strange, neither of you seemed to really stick it to the other whenever you crossed paths.

And after a while, you slowly started to orbit each other a little more. Anytime Stacy found herself tangled up with ”Henderson”, who you now learned to be James, you’d go knock-knock-knocking on his dorm door with a heavy sigh of resignation.

At some point, he grew to expect your presence at least 4 times a month. As Stacy and James grew closer, so did you and Luigi.

But you never really seemed to get closer beyond that.

There was a thick and impenetrable wall between the two of you, one that seemed to only come down when monitored by the presence of his frat brother Logan. You had grown close enough to sit at the foot of Luigi’s bed, legs crossed in tense modesty as you chatted back and forth about your day.

There was an occasional shift in the energy, where you’d sometimes lay next to Luigi while he showed you something on his phone. Sometimes, after he showed you whatever it was he wanted to, you’d stay shoulder-to-shoulder with him under his blue blankets and talk about your philosophies and plans for the future.

A veterinarian, a computer scientist, building gag robots for another pro-capitalistic ride at Disney, a manic artist wielding a paintbrush to the mirror where a gun would inevitably be…whatever seemed to cross your mind at the moment.

There were moments when everything felt all too intimate to be casual. The days when Stacy and James decided to make the most of their alone time, banishing you to the outdoors until the wee hours of the morning.

It was those days when you laid with Luigi, your backs pressed together while your heartbeats thumped as one. All the angels rumored to inhabit heaven seemed to have all eyes on you as your silent snores filled the room, your comfortable breathing serving as a bittersweet reminder that this would all be over in the morning.

And then you’d be back to push. 

You had completely different majors, so you didn’t really share any classes with him. And if you did happen to see him in the halls or around campus, it was nothing much more than a brief smile and a wave before both of you scurried off to wherever it was you needed to be.

However, there was a time in which the wall between you and Luigi came crumbling down with the weight of a strange tension that lingered in the air.

It was a warm spring evening, the kind where bugs began to crawl and creep around every crevice of the world in an effort to indulge themselves in all the sunshine and pollen they missed during the winter. Spring break prepared to rear her floral features, taunting your exhausted mind with her fleeting touch.

You sat in Luigi’s dorm for what felt like the thousandth time that year, your ass flat on the ground in your pink Lulu shorts and white fitted Bebe tee. You fidgeted with one of Luigi’s fidget toys absentmindedly— some sort of multi-buttoned cube— while you talked about your plans for after graduation.

“I don’t know…I think once I graduate I’m getting the fuck out of here for a bit. I've been trying to go out of state…Philly’s getting old” you sighed.

“Philly? You think Philly’s boring? Something happens here like every other day,” he chuckled, his brows pinching together slightly.

“Well, when you’re in the same area like every single day, any city can get boring,” you shrugged.

He nodded, immediately understanding where you were coming from after you clarified. He glanced over at you, watching as you leaned against Logan’s bed in his absence.

“Climb up here, please. Logan’s got some stuff under his bed that I don’t want you to see” he pleaded, gesturing toward his bed.

“At least buy me a drink first” you huffed sarcastically, rolling your eyes before making your way over to Luigi’s bed.

“I’d totally buy you a drink” he chuckled, watching as you laid down on your stomach at the end of his bed.

“I think I’d approach you at a bar…I dunno I’d probably be not sober,” you chortled quietly.

“So you’d have to be drunk to get with me? Ouch, you’re so kind!” He fake gasped.

“Nah. I’d do it sober. Dry levels of soberness. Fifteen years sober” you joked, raising your brows briefly, partially involuntary on your part.

Body language is stupid.

He chuckled, higher than normal. It almost sounded like a girlish giggle— one you’d expect to hear from a girl nervously chuckling at a sweet comment from her high school sweetheart.

“You’d hook up with me?” He asked a tone of sincerity with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Well…” you began, propping yourself up on your elbows, your beaded bracelets and bangles clinking and twinkling with your movements.

“You don’t seem like a hookup guy. You’re more like a lover-boy,” you explained, your fingertips gently tracing the outer shell of your ear as your stomach suddenly knotted itself.

“Really?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

You nodded, sitting up straight to crack your back and stretch your arms.

“I wouldn’t do you like that. You’re much too thoughtful and good to be a one-and-done.”

Hearing you say that almost frightened him. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, the fluttery friends impeding his brain receptors from forming a response as his cheeks went light pink. It was a good thing the sun became more common in the spring, if this had been winter, he was sure his pale complexion would have given him away immediately.

“That’s actually…so sweet, thank you,” He stammered, suddenly feeling extremely warm.

“Yeah, for sure,” you smiled, meeting his eyes briefly before shuffling your legs under you, shifting a little closer to him in the process.

When you met his gaze again, it was like the brown eyes of Mother Nature were staring back into yours. Deep, warm, onyx voids of emotion searching yours as your hearts made futile attempts to beat out of their rib cages.

Closer. Closer. Come here, I just want you closer.

Come closer. Kiss me, I promise I won’t fuck it up. 

Can I?

The way your minds seemingly connected to one another was almost spiritual— communicating back and forth like they were from the same consciousness.

“Pepper!! Good news, David said he’d get us a keg”

You nearly jumped, making a conscious effort to not seem surprised as Logan suddenly swung the front door open, effectively cockblocking you two.

“Oh…nice,” Luigi said, glancing at you briefly with slight guilt and worry. Like the word was imprinted on his eyes, you caught it like a softball.

Sorry.

And that was the last time you ever managed to get that close to Luigi again.

Now you were on your own, far out in the Pacific on the little island of Hawai’i. You still clutch your beige canvas tote bag, a painful reminder of your own failure to speak up in your college years. 

It had since been painted over— raspberry-tinted hibiscuses accompanied by slate blue foamy waves. Inside carried your multi-button fidget cube, pressing and clicking each button as you stood on the sandy beach in the early mornings.

Like now. You finished up the last of your spam musubi, letting the salty and tangy flavor of the soy-glazed spam fill your mouth long with the soft white rice.

The nori crunched under your teeth, buckling under the gentle force of your jaw as you finished the remainder of your breakfast. As you walked the expanse of the white and sandy beach, kicking up sand along the way, you decided to stop for a moment and sit down.

The quiet crash of the waves filled your ears, the salty breeze kissing your waterline slightly as you watched the sunrise. You hummed to yourself, swaying side-to-side absent-mindedly as you tuned out your surroundings.

If you were paying attention, you would have heard the sounds of a morning jogger approaching your form. If you were paying attention, you would have realized how familiar the man looked as he began to fade into view.

“Oh shit,” Luigi murmured, stopping in his tracks and pointing at you like a shiny Pokemon in the wild. “I know you!”

You looked up, your brows furrowing slightly at the sudden statement. You felt it before you heard it; the familiar pull on your heartstrings as Luigi slowly approached you.

Your eyes met his, a silent smile spreading on your face as you got on your feet again. 

“Hey!” You beamed, unsure of whether or not to pull him into a hug. After all, he was shirtless and panting, a clear indicator of just how long he had been outside running.

He smiled back at you, his strong and soft-looking chest rising and falling with every breath. “Hey! It’s good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too,” You nodded, immediately digging through your tote bag to find the little fidget toy you had kept years prior, presenting it before him with a cheesy smile. He looked at it with a surprised smirk, a wave of nostalgia washing over him as he gently picked up the fidget toy between his pointer and thumb.

“Oh, so it was you,” he chuckled, his thumb running over the various buttons before he carelessly shoved it into the side pocket of his swim trunks.

“Yeah, sorry…I literally just forgot to put it down,” you sighed. 

“I figured it was something along those lines…don’t worry I wasn’t mad. I was actually happier you had it versus someone else, I knew I’d get it back eventually” he smiled, brows pinching together directly after as he whirled his head around his surroundings.

“…Just not in Hawai’i.”

You laughed, giving him an apologetic nod as the warm air prompted the both of you to release all your unspoken emotions. Hardships, hassles, anger, pain, regret, and frustrations all seemed to bubble over the surface as you began to walk down the beach together.

It was just like three years ago— spending your days in his compact dorm with the company of another man you had since forgotten the name of. With Luigi, it seemed as if neither of you could keep your mouth shut for more than five minutes.

Gentle, and deep conversations, the kind where one would normally be post-breakdown or manic to let these kinds of thoughts slip out unprovoked. Maybe it was the steamy grains of sand under the soles of your feet, the gentle massage prompting you to release the pent-up stress and trauma you’d accumulated over the years.

Or maybe it was just Luigi, who despite the awkward and what should have been alarming circumstances of your first interaction, always reassured you.

“So how’s your time been in Hawai’i so far? You said you were here for a vacation, right?” You asked, gently wondering what the fuck he was doing on the coast of Honolulu.

“I had a spine injury a couple months ago…and it pretty much just made my spine worse than it already was. But I kinda just wanted to come here to heal,” he shrugged, his thumb pressing each button on the fidget cube ritualistically.

“White boy comes to an island to heal!? Where have I heard that before…” you joked, pretending to cross your arms and think hard about this new information.

“Stop it, stop it,” he giggled, shaking his head in faux disapproval. “It’s not like that I promise.”

He took your wordless and slightly smug nod as he used that time to take in your appearance after all these years. Still the same young woman, but matured with time like a fine and fruity glass of wine.

Sunkissed skin, freshly sprouted faint freckles on your arms, and a little calmer compared to your time at university. He was glad that after the hell you both endured in college, you were able to find somewhere that made you happy.

“Oh, by the way,” he began, his hands coming up to his temples as if his train of thought had just stopped off at the correct station. “I was gonna go get some fruit and poké later. I’d appreciate it if you came with me.”

You paused, that familiar warmth spreading to your face as you turned around to look at him.

“Sure, yeah, that sounds nice.”

When I watch twitter prn, I imagine it's him and it makes me cum 5 times under an hour.

Fav vids I imagine where it's him ⭐️

fucking you softly in the morning

spencer thrusting up into you

riding spencer but he ended up taking control

he's teasing your cunt after making you cum and squirt on his cock

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

for @vershautece, based off of this and a little of this 🩷 enjoy!

warnings luigi is a baby making machine! sahm themes, let’s just assume he never had back problems shhh, all italian is translated at the bottom, breeding, oral (both receiving), missionary + doggy, orgasm denial (?), rough sex, ass slapping (i don’t like the other word), reflection ;), half-assed proofread

a/n i am actually so sorry this is so late, i’ve been stacked today and then i scheduled this to post and it never did… ALSO THIS IS WAY LONGER THAN I ORIGINALLY INTENDED!!! and i’m sorry the smut is kinda vague i haven’t written actual smut in SOOOO long it’s embarrassing… i’m gonna be a hornball on your dash!

getting accepted to upenn was definitely in your top three most exhilarating moments of your life. with plans of majoring in art, you were over the moon to start your independent life at an ivy league school! you rarely let boys get in your way — enjoying life in the moment was a top quality of yours as an artist.

that was, until you met luigi. oh god, he’s so beautiful. you only picked up one digital class that you really didn’t even know the name of because you’d wanted to get into digital art and you thought it’d be fun to learn the functions. as soon as you saw him about two weeks into the course, you were swooning. unbeknownst to you, most other girls were also swooning.

you only had a few tight friends, but your kind personality was a trait everyone noticed about you as soon as you would approach. also how good you smelled. and your beautiful smile. and your full, happy cheeks when you laugh. really just everything — and you’d had no idea that boys in your courses would pine after you, too.

a few trusty years later, you and luigi were to be wed! babies came shortly after, and you had the most beautiful twin toddlers. after you’d been granted maternity leave from your job as a high school art teacher, you’d gotten a little too used to staying home and tending to the house, rather than scrambling every weekend to get everything done as well as take care of your husband and children.

you had a talk with luigi and determined that the money from his job would be enough to keep the family steady going as well as a few pieces you’d make and sell on ebay every now and again. almost as quickly as you could, you sent an email to the superintendent and principal of your school saying that you would unfortunately not be returning due to personal issues.

luigi had never asked you to be a sweet little tradwife for him, but he damn sure enjoyed it. today in particular, your three year olds’ daycare was closed so you were fortunate enough to leave them with their godparents. this was good for you, they’d likely ask to spend the night with their padrini*, so you can have tonight and tomorrow morning without a ‘bedtime’ for you and your children!

in the morning after dropping them off, you went back home to get cute and dolled up — you usually made breakfast wearing a silk pajama set that luigi bought for you last christmas. then you went to the grocery store and to the bank to deposit a check from a painting you sold for a little under $500. then back home to make a small lunch — you were planning to cook a big dinner — and then onto housework. you played music while you worked, and once beds were made you retreated back to your bedroom to tweak your hair and makeup for dinner.

you also made sure luigi knew not to come home before 5:45 because you wouldn’t be done with your dishes, and checked in on your kids to confirm they’d stay the night at their padrini’s house.

when luigi came home, just like out of a scene of a movie, he shouted from the front door: “tesoro, sono a casa!*” followed by the door closing and locking mechanically behind him. he strutted into the kitchen to see you putting plates together — exactly 6:00. he must have waited in the driveway to give you some extra time!

with a gentle hold of your waist and long kiss on your cheek, you suddenly felt much more comfortable; almost feeling safe that he was home. anxiety was sometimes a struggle when you’re home alone all day and your husband working half an hour away.

as you plated the food and brought the bread out of the oven, luigi went upstairs to change into something more casual. when he opened the bedroom door, he noticed you had left a precious little lingerie set laying on the bed, likely accidentally. his interest was certainly piqued! quirking an eyebrow and grinning a little to himself, he took a few minutes to change and mess with his hair a bit in the mirror.

luigi came down the stairs with happy haste.

“thank you for making this meal, babydoll, smells so good,” he compliments, kissing your cheek again.

your face burns excitedly. “thank you,” you kiss his lips a few short times.

over dinner, you chat about each other’s day and the children. he seems to be deep in thought for a moment, and when he notices you staring he speaks again.

“you think we should have another baby?” he asks cheekily.

you nearly choke and your heart rate runs rampant, looking as if you hadn’t had sex before. “do you want to?”

“would i ask if i didn’t want to?”

there’s a rush between your thighs almost immediately. you place your fork down onto your plate and stand up, but before you can walk off he’s up and scooping you into his strong arms. he cascades up the steps with you bridal style.

as soon as he steps into the bedroom, he places you down on the fuzzy chair in front of your vanity. a finger points to the lacy set laying on the neat bed.

“you wanna tell me what you got this out for?” he presses, kneeling down on the ground in front of you. luigi’s pretty lips pepper kisses on your ankles, lifting each one up slowly to remove your kitten heels. once each shoe is off, he places the now bare calf on his shoulder.

“please, lu…” you plead pathetically.

his eyebrows furrow upwards, looking at you with big eyes full of faux empathy. “please what? use your words, mio amore. dimmi cosa vuoi*.”

words are quick to fail you. your brain is blank, almost static. most times you have sex it’s quick and hushed because the twins are in the house.

he’s kissing up your legs again, attempting to get a rise out of you. once he gets to your thighs, you’re getting a little restless.

“taking too long,” you mumble, and he lifts his head to look you in the eye again — this time much more stern.

“what was that?”

“said you’re taking too long,” you repeat yourself louder, locking your gaze with his.

within a second, he’s snatched you up and thrown you onto the neat bed.

“you and your goddamn bed decorations. i never know why you put all these pillows on here when we’re just gonna throw them all off later,” he grumbles, clearly angry and clearing the throw pillows from the bed, tossing them to the floor.

luigi pushes your maxi skirt up and nearly tears your little cotton underwear off of you. his tongue darts between your warmth and his nose harshly rubs against your clit, catching you off guard and sending your spine into electric shock. your hands fly to grip his hair in one hand and the tightly made bedsheets in the other.

“y’taste so sweet, tesoro,” he groans against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your thighs before going back to devouring your sex.

he’s already working an easy orgasm or two from you. he pulls you from your stupor and unzips your dress, gingerly pulling it off of you — he knows how upset you got last time he accidentally ripped the hem of your dress.

his shirt is gone, his chin and parts of his cheeks are still wet, and removing his belt as quickly as he can. as soon as his pants drop, you grab the hem of his boxers and pull them down. every time you see his cock, it never fails to surprise you that the tip touches his fucking belly button.

you pop his throbbing pink tip into your mouth, giving it little kitten licks and short kisses. you work your way down, or as much as you can, using your hand to pump what you can’t fit in your mouth. you’re moaning and slobbering around his cock, vibrations from your voice sending chills up his spine and down into his arms. his hands find their way to the back of your head, carefully urging you to take more.

your throat is constricting and you retract from his cock, looking into his eyes for validation.

“you’re taking too long,” he mocks in a faux whiny voice. luigi pushes you back onto the bed by his shoulders and holds his heavy cock. he teases your folds, rubbing his hot tip through to spread your own spit and cum from him eating you out. slowly, he pushes in. he always waits a little for you to adjust to how big he is.

“fuck, m’so full…”

“you’re so tight, mio amore.”

his eyes are boring into yours and his hands press down onto your womb to see his own cock buried into you.

“gonna cum if you don’t breathe for a second and relax, holy fuck baby,” he reminds you with a deep, raspy tone.

you take a deep breath and mid-exhale he starts to pound into you with a feverish and eager alacrity, causing you to almost scream.

“mmmmy fucking god!” your voice shakes with each impactful thrust against your hips. one of his hands grips your waist and the other attaches to your boob, his head following shortly. his tongue laps around your peaked nipple rapidly.

then both hands are on your waist and he briefly pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and prop your ass up to his liking. he’s shoving his cock back into your soaked cunt and returns back to his relentless pace.

“gonna fuck a baby into you, bella ragazza, gonna get you nice and swollen with a pretty baby, hm? isn’t that right?” he pushes his hand down onto your lower back, arching you up higher for him. both of his big hands find your frizzed up curly bun and he snatches your head back.

“feels so fucking good, m’gonna cum, lu!”

“aht,” he slows down exponentially, “you’ll cum when i tell you to.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head with adoration and you swear your ovaries start jumping at the demand. he’s back to slamming into you and a hard hand comes down onto each ass cheek three or four times. he adds to the torture by holding your hair in one hand and moving his other arm around your hip to grind his palm on your clit.

“oh my god, i’m gonna fucking cum luigi…” you breathe out between a moan, a scream and a whisper.

“what’d i tell you?”

“to wait ‘til you tell me to cum!”

“do what i tell you, be a good girl and listen to me.”

your brain is numb and your head falls limp, his grip in your hair is the only thing holding your body close to his.

“you’re so fucking pretty, mio amore, can i take a picture?”

you just nod obediently, not really caring too much at this point. he reaches over to the bedside table where he put his phone before dinner and opens the camera, showing your mascara dripping down your face from tears you didn’t know were flowing and an agape mouth, moans slipping through with every motion.

“you see why i love fucking you s’much? hm? look at yourself while i fuck you, baby,” he’s shoving the phone into your hand to palm your clit again. you’re bucking your hips against each form of stimulation with your jaw wide open, breathing shakily.

“there you go, tesoro, y’wanna cum?” he taunts, to which you nod your head and moan a hearty ‘yes!’

his index and middle finger focus on your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as tightly as he can. your eyes go crossed, no longer paying any attention to the reflection in the camera. luigi’s hand drops from your hair, pushes your head down and arches your back up one more time. he pressed record on the camera and kept up with his cock bullying into your cervix over and over.

“go ahead and cum with me baby, take it like the good girl you are.”

when he gives you permission, almost like a stage cue, you totally let go. your cunt squeezes around him entirely and traps him in. his cock twitches rampantly inside you as he meets his release, watching your face through the camera that you’re gripping onto with your life.

it takes a few minutes to cool off after he lays down beside you, stopping the recording and kissing all over your face. “you did so good for me, baby. sei una brava ragazza*.”

you don’t even have it in you to respond, your chest heaving.

“you think that one will take? should we go for another round?”

this gets a breathless chortle from you. “can i catch my breath first? also, you messed my hair up.”

“so that’s a yes?” he asks, already burying his face into your chest and carefully pressing kisses to your hot skin.

🌺🩷💋

italian words and phrases:

padrini: godparents

tesoro: sweetheart

sono a casa: i’m home!

dimmi cosa vuoi: tell me what you want

sei una brava ragazza: you’re (such) a good girl

misbehaving

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ your plan to piss off your cute tutor backfires in the best way possible.

part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; unprotected (PLS practice safe sex); jealousy; brat taming; choking; some painplay; undernegotiated scene (all consensual!!)

notes : i could NOT find a cute little picture that fit for this one i’m sorry💔

You’ve been bad.

Which is weird to say, because you aren’t doing anything particularly naughty, or morally dubious, or criminal, for that matter. You’re doing homework. Math homework.

And what’s so bad about math homework?

Well, it would be different if you were working alone, or maybe with a friend of yours. It would be different if you weren’t in the library with a boy from your math class, who you proposed doing said homework with not even an hour ago. You don’t know this boy. Not well, anyway. His math skills are…mediocre at best, and the same could be said for just about every other aspect of him. His name is something simple, unremarkable—starts with a J, you think—and you don’t care to relearn it, because this boy is simply a decoy, a prop in your plan.

Right. Your plan.

You have a bit of a problem lately: your tutor, Luigi, has been quite busy with something. You have no idea what. You never do, because he doesn’t like to talk about himself, but you know that something has been keeping his time occupied because you haven’t seen him in a few weeks and when he does respond to your texts, he’s apologetic but short, dry, unengaged. It's driving you mad. You’re bored. He’s probably tinkering with computers or doing whatever it is people do in fraternities and you’re bored out of your mind, having to fend for yourself in mathematical and sexual proclivities. It’s not just your raging attraction to him that makes this problematic for you; in fact, if he weren’t so damn busy, you’d probably be doing your homework with him instead. But he is, so here you are, armed with your decoy and one goal only: to make your crush tutor jealous.

Does he even care enough about you to respond to petty tricks like this?

He had tried to talk to you before you made it to the library, and you had admittedly forgotten about your response. Looking at your drawn-out and seemingly unproductive conversation makes your skin feel hot, now:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Where you at

library

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : What doing?

hw

with [REDACTED] from math

There are two new messages from Luigi, ones you haven’t seen, sent about forty minutes ago while you were knee deep in your studies:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : What

Who???

One question mark would be plenty worth an eyebrow raise, but three implies something much stronger, something tinged with what may very well be actual anger. You can’t decide if you think that’s a good or bad thing.

Your decoy is packing his things beside you, your work finished for the day. Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest, like this library is only big enough for the two of you to crowd inside; the uncertainty of trying to push Luigi’s buttons makes you feel claustrophobic, and so, so wrong, but you’re chasing the high as you stand up to grab your backpack and thank Mr. J or whatever his name is for his help. It’s not very sincere—you know that at least a few of your answers are definitely wrong. The price you pay for dick.

Hugging your cardigan to you, you make your way off campus and start the walk to your apartment. The night is bustling with activity, as to be expected in a college town, but aside from your fluttering heart you have no fear, no back-burner thoughts of drunk dudes cornering you or shifty old guys trying to offer you a ride home. All you can think of is what Luigi is planning on doing about your disrespect.

Inside your dorm complex it’s much warmer. The elevator ride up to your floor is silent, aside from the sound of your own exhales. Tension builds in you and wraps up like a ball of rubber bands, threatening to snap, pull you apart. You’ve never seen Luigi mad before. You almost wonder if he has it in him; but that thought doesn’t last for long, because it’s quickly shot down by the rush of memories you have of him, active, protective, quick on his feet. Not violent in the slightest, but you imagine that he has soft spots deep inside him, ones that rupture at the slightest provocation. You’ve caught him at the gym a few times. Shirtless. Sweating. All meat and bones. He could easily throw you any which way if he wanted to.

When you round the corner of the hall you hear footsteps rushing behind you, then directly beside you, a hand grabbing your arm.

You don’t even need to turn your head to know who it is.

“Is your roommate home?” Luigi asks.

You are suddenly walking much faster with his guidance, and you have to be mindful of where you place your feet with each step so that you don’t trip over yourself. Should she be? Right now you’ll have the apartment to yourself—she works a night shift after her classes—but with the tone of Luigi’s voice and his firm grip on your arm you worry that you just might have triggered something serious in him, something animalistic.

Swallowing thickly, you answer, “no.”

“Good,” he rumbles. Then, matter-of-factly: “Because you’re going to lead us to your dorm, and then you and I are going to have a little talk.”

So, it’s official: you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. You expected some sternness, maybe a bit of a talking to, but overall nothing more than the almost overwhelming sweetness Luigi was known for. Right now it doesn’t seem like he wants to do much talking, or much sweetness, for that matter, and the thought of what’s in store for you has you anticipating bruises on your hips and an aching core.

The door is barely open before he’s ushering you inside and backing you against the nearest wall.

“I got your text,” he starts, “and I saw you. With—with fucking what’s-his-face from math.”

You resist the urge to grin. There is so much genuine jealousy in his words, jealousy over a pawn, a desperate volunteer you picked at random just to get his eyes back on you. Nobody. He’s jealous over nobody. You weren’t thinking he’d be cool as a cucumber, obviously, but to be this angry over a guy that both of you hardly know is a reaction that has you second-guessing every moment you’ve spent with him. Was he really this crazy over you?

“Yeah?” you scoff for effect. “What’s-his-face from math was helping me. With math. Big deal.”

And then he does something that makes your insides turn to slush. Luigi pauses, and you can see his tongue poking his cheek in frustration, his eyes trained on your face, his hands on his hips. It’s a look you’ve never seen on him before and you love it, every little detail, the way his brows furrow, the way those pretty lashes flutter. You feel like a kid getting caught with your hand right in the cookie jar. Maybe you shouldn’t have messed with him; maybe it was a bad idea to provoke him like this, hit him where it hurts, get him riled up over some aimless homework you did with another boy just to get his attention. But it would be a big, fat, horrendous lie to say that you don’t like where this is going. That you aren’t already slick between your legs thinking about what he might do to you when he’s this agitated.

Before you can open your mouth to speak again he has you pinned to the wall, towering over you just slightly. His hand is on your neck. He isn’t choking you, not even close, but there is just enough pressure against your throat to have your stomach in knots.

“What the fuck is this?” Luigi grits, low and rough. Dark. “Do you think it’s funny to just play me like that? Fuck with my feelings like it’s nothing?”

You gulp and crumble into yourself. When he talks to you like you’re in trouble you can’t help but feel small, weak, pliable, a bit like you would let him do just about anything he wanted to your body as long as he keeps his eyes on you. Helpless. Like prey.

The hand on your throat comes to seize your chin, hard. “I asked you a question, baby.”

To think that he’s probably only using just half of his strength stirs excitement deep in your belly.

“I didn’t realize it meant that much to you,” you squeak. It’s not completely a lie. This side of Luigi is new, a little scary, but unexpectedly titillating.

“Oh, you didn’t realize?” He is grabbing your face now, between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, holding your head straight so that you can’t look away from him and your lips push into a little pout. His knee juts between your legs. “Really? You didn’t realize it meant that much?”

“No, sir, I didn’t—”

The moment the word sir leaves your mouth he’s slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His hand gripping your ass knocks all the air straight from your lungs.

“You just have to be a fucking brat,” he grumbles. “Which one is your room?”

You offer a pathetic point at your door, accompanied by an even more pathetic whimper so that he can look in your direction. What can you say? It’s hard to think straight when he pulls out the B Word so casually.

Following your directions, Luigi carries you into your bedroom, closing and locking the door and then tossing you—carefully!—onto your bed. He has your arms pinned above your head in an instant and his other hand begins to make quick work of getting your pants down. Your heart is beating so fast you can hardly hear him speaking to you:

“Do you think this is how you should get a guy’s attention? Huh?” His voice is all warm in your ears, like marshmallows roasting over crackling fire. Your legs are spread wide and he is slotted perfectly between them. “All you had to do was just ask, baby. How fucking hard is that?”

A shadow of a grin teases your lips. “Clearly, it worked, didn’t it?”

He smacks your cunt through your panties and leans down close to you, smirking at your gasp. “You’ve got a smart fuckin’ mouth,” Luigi chides. “Keep running it and see where it gets you.”

He knows exactly what your intentions are. He has you figured out, had you figured out the moment you sent him that text, probably, despite your best efforts. You should have never underestimated your own tutor. Your shirt is swiftly pulled up and over your breasts, so that he can take one in his hand, growl at your lack of a bra, squeeze you, twist a nipple between his fingers. You want to run your hands through his hair but he still has your arms held above your head, and he can feel your wrists straining feebly, wanting desperately to hold him. I’m sorry, you want to say, I’m sorry, Gi, really, I didn’t mean it, but it would be useless, because you know that this won’t be over until he’s made his point, until you’re made very sure of the fact that he will accept absolutely none of this vindictive bratty shit.

And then he lets go of your hands momentarily to pull off his shirt, and you make the mistake of reaching for his pants. Luigi instantly has you pinned to your bed again, this time holding you down with both arms. You almost wish one of them was free so he could grab your face again, taunt you, make you feel all weak and stupid.

“Stay still,” he spits. He collects your wrists in one hand again and moves the other to the button of his jeans. “Someone ought to teach you some fucking manners, don’t you think? Teach you how to ask for what you want properly?”

Oh, you’ve never needed a lesson in behavior more than you do right this minute. “Yes, yes,” you agree, nodding absently.

“Yeah?” Luigi has his pants and his boxers down all at once and when you feel his hand sliding into your underwear it takes all of your resolve to swallow your mewl. “Oh, you’re so wet. Dirty fuckin’ girl. You know, I think I should just—”

Before you can blink he’s flipping you over, guiding you to pose exactly how he wants you, on your hands and knees with your legs spread and your back arching up towards him. You feel like a ragdoll, pulled this way and that, and you fucking love it, this untamed, beast-like side of him that just throws you around his court like a tennis ball.

“—There we go.”

Swiftly, Luigi pulls your panties down your thighs, tugs off your cardigan, and delivers a restrained spank to your ass. He comes up behind you and moves to do something that makes you heart sink and your cunt pulse: his right arm wraps around your face and hooks underneath your chin, bicep looping around your neck as he pulls you upward, against his chest. Holy shit. He has you in a fucking chokehold. Not enough to actually block oxygen from your brain, but enough that you can feel his muscles flexing, pressure tight on your throat.

“And how about this?” Luigi asks, deep and hot like lava in your ear. “Is this okay?”

The yes that leaves you is pained and broken, but your sticky, wet pussy tells him an entirely different story, one that reassures him as he pushes his cock inside of you.

Without any prep the stretch of him burns, but in the best way possible; after all, this was exactly what you wanted, him splitting you open and claiming every inch of depth inside of you. Yes, you should’ve known that this is exactly what you signed up for. You wanted to make him mad, make him itch for you, so badly that even the thought of you just doing math with any other guy has him wanting to put people in chokeholds, apparently—but right now, with Luigi working his dick inside of you, trapping you from air, whispering pure and utter filth into your ear, you aren’t regretful—certainly not—but you’re bracing yourself.

“Not so sassy now, huh?” he mocks. He warned you that running your mouth might earn you something special, but you certainly weren’t expecting this. You can only grunt in response.

He smiles. “Yeah, hard to talk when I’ve got you like this, isn’t it? Figures. Only time you’re ever quiet is when I’m giving this pussy some attention.”

Unreal. Absolutely unfair. You want to kiss his perfect mouth for saying all the words you wanted to hear him say to you, in that raspy, fucked-out voice that makes you whine like a bitch in heat. But it would be useless to try, because Luigi’s tight grip on you makes it impossible to move even your hips. His, though, pump with quick succession, snapping into you, ruining your cunt.

“That’s it,” he groans. You’ve sucked the mercy right out of him. He is fucking you relentlessly, forcing sounds out of you that he’ll be turning over in his brain for future reference. He learns something new about you every time you’re together, especially so right now.

“I love—fuck—” you’re trying hard to tell him that you agree, this is it, exactly how you imagined it, but with his arm tight around your neck and his cock brushing a certain spot that makes your toes curl it becomes increasingly difficult to express your satisfaction in anything other than lewd, incomprehensible noise. “I love the way you make me take it, sir.”

Luigi growls. “I’m just taking what’s mine.” If his other hand weren’t holding your head in place he would be playing with your clit, but the chokehold prevents that, so instead he pounds into you harder and chants into your ear, “mine, mine, all fucking mine.”

And then it starts to feel like just too much, because he’s panting and moaning and you want just the sound of this and him fucking you hard on repeat every day for the rest of your life. That would prove to be quite difficult, though—having to hear him nonstop would mean having to think about him all the time, too, even in the most innocuous moments, and there’s no way you could bear all of that at once. You can hardly handle it right now.

Suddenly, he starts to slow, and he releases you from his hold but before you can complain he rasps, “do you want to come?”. He already knows the answer to that question, so when you whimper he pulls out and follows it with: “Then get on your knees.”

And you do, faster than you ever have before, kneeling on the floor in front of your bed with him standing above you. Your cunt is still burning with need but Luigi comes close, stroking himself, his cock just mere centimeters from your face. “Open your mouth,” he breathes, and you lurch forward, holding onto his thighs and looking up at him as he guides his dick between your lips.

Fuck. He loves that you can take a hint. Knowing he’s close you start a steady rhythm, hollowing your cheeks around him, moving quickly and putting effort into each back-and-forth of your head. You can taste yourself on him. Luigi is groaning above you, speaking like he has to empty every thought that enters his mind: “oh, baby, yes” and “just like that” and “ohhhh fuck…”

You take him as deep in your throat as you can. He almost can’t stand to look at you as you’re sucking him, can hardly take your face and your mouth at the same time, but before he can come he catches a glimpse of you; he has your hair held back in both of his hands, your pretty doe eyes filled with tears, looking up at him through fluttering lashes. Rough carpet burns against your knees. You know that there will be bruises later, probably all over you, blatant proof of the feral and purely human attraction between the both of you—proof of his hands all over you, marking his territory, staking his claim. He thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

Luigi hisses, warns you that he’s coming, and when he lets your hair go and grabs your face with both hands he’s spilling into your mouth, warm and bitter. “Swallow,” he’s telling you, “swallow f’ me,” and you try to tame your gag reflex as you obey his demands, his cock still rammed in your throat. You whimper around him and the noise he makes is fucking obscene.

And then he tilts your chin up, pries your mouth open with his thumb so that you can stick your tongue out and show him that not a drop of him remains. He flashes you an absolutely dangerous grin. “Atta girl. C’mere.”

He helps you up onto the bed and guides you to lay onto your back with one big hand, smoothing over your stomach and tracing down your pelvis to your drooling cunt. Those long, skilled fingers dip into your slick and spread you, caressing, exploring. You’re sensitive after such a brutal pounding and each time he brushes against your clit you jolt with delight; he giggles at you, like he’s amused by the way his own body can break you.

“Sweet girl,” Luigi breathes, and you look into his eyes, look at his angel face as he stares down at you with adoration. You’re happy that he lets you move your hands, now, because you can hold him against your palm, trace his sideburns with your thumb, study the nearly symmetrical moles on each of his cheeks. He is so beautiful. You hardly know where to contain these feelings you hold for him.

Two fingers are probing your pussy, dipping inside, and your keen is louder than you intend it to be. He knows just where to look, instantly finding your sweet spot. He’s perfect. “Gi, fuck.”

“Baby, ‘m sorry I made you feel lonely.” You love how his voice sounds right now, dark and dripping with sugar, spice, and everything nice. “I get too focused, you know how I am. I missed you. Missed this pretty pussy.”

Inside your cunt Luigi is massaging your G-spot, his other hand gliding down your stomach, thumb meeting your clit and starting a gentle pattern of quick, circular motions. You already feel close watching both of his hands pleasuring you. Sharp nails fly up to dig into his broad shoulder, the back of your head burrowing into your pillow.

“You like that?” he leans down to kiss your nose, then your mouth. “Are you almost there, pretty girl? Gonna come all over my fingers?”

You nod incessantly.

He grins, white teeth flashing at you; he looks wolfish with his sharp canines and focused eyes. “Yeah? Let me see it, baby. Give it to me.”

And then you’re there, falling over the edge into his arms, squeezing his fingers like a vice and sobbing underneath him. Luigi helps you ride it out, still rubbing your clit and sending sparks through you, whispering sweet nothings that you don’t fully process as you come down from your climax. The inside of your thighs are slick and your room smells like sex and sweat.

“Are you mad at me?” Luigi asks from beside you after a while, eyes anxious.

You blink. “What? No, Gi. No. Why would I be mad?”

“I kinda left you hanging for a while,” he confesses, still clearly regretful of his bad habits of perfectionism and something that might be better described by a formal diagnosis in some edition of the DSM but you’re far too preoccupied and frankly under-qualified to name it right now. “I wasn’t trying to, and I meant to let you know, or tell you something, anyway, but different things kept coming up and I had to—”

Threading your fingers through his curls, you bring him close and kiss him, effectively shutting him up. You were never really mad. You aren’t now, anyway. Not when he’s this cute and so obviously concerned with you.

“I’m not mad,” you repeat. “It’s okay, Luigi.”

It’s a bit too dark to tell, but you think you can see his face flush pink, and he smiles at you, his dimple prominent under your palm. Then, he looks downward, towards your tits, towards his hand holding your waist, and his smile gets wider, its innocence from before missing.

“Can I make it up to you?”

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!