Warm Embrace

Good Job. — praise kink discovery

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

event ۶ৎ taglist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How can he press a new button today?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck and shove.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.”

“No, why?”

“Just come here, I want a hug!”

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

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

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

“Peace was never an option.”

“You are a nerd, oh my god…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lui—! Ah, fuck…!”

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

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

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

All with just some words.

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

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

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

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

taglist ; @lorelaisg1lmore @flaca335 @7luvrs @fancyyanci @f4b111 @born444u @harrys0nlyange1 @lovelyfeeling @4ngelv4l

lu coded tumblr gifs and pics, here u go :) nsfw and sfw

mornings together :3

the curls <3 that is literally him

omfg

morning kisses

pic he has of u

making out

mmmm

holding hands while u fuck >.<

just imagineee

cuddling entangled in each other

his hand on ur thigh

soooo him

playing with ur nipples

him picking you up like this mm

making breakfast together

ohhh this is def how he’d be w u

my fav ugh how he’d grip u while u dry hump + those biceps are so himmmm

ugh need

gripping your ass

how he’s got you underneath him as he pounds u into the mattress mm

shower sex fuck this is himmm

him all over u while u make out😣

yes pls

straddling him in lingerie on his bday

holding u close while u ride him

cuddling on top of him :3

maybe my fav gif so far fuckk

intimate shower sex

spooning

straddling him like this oh my god

perfect

so passionate

him loving on ur body :3

the morning after omg

ur desperate for each other at a party

no words😔

him fucking the attitude out of u

this is exactly how lu would be :’( need

beauty mark!!

🥺 the watch

need need need

the watch so lu coded

taking a bath together like this omg

making out in his gaming chair oh my

chilling together ;)

:’) <3

him washing u in the shower

reading together :)

ur engagement ring

after u shower together

boyfriend!hotch

Luigi taking care of you on your period (fluff)

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

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

“Still painful?”

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

“Yeeessss,” you draw out.

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

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

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

“Hm, that would be nice,” you reply.

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

“Let’s go,” he states.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you love this nerdy man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come here,” he laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reader and Luigi basically being the old married couple of the group. A newcomer finds out that they aren’t actually together and it feels like breaking news because it’s basically assumed by most that they’re together. Maybe it isn’t until one of them starts getting actively pursued by someone else when it starts clicking why it makes them uncomfortable at the idea. Trying to leave this open ended for you.

The Jester’s Fucking the King — {Luigi x Reader }

Content: I’m gonna call this one NSFW— MDNI, friends to lovers, confusing feelings, Luigi has a physical touch fixation, you’re his fidget toy, fr tho, emotional manipulation lowkey, just a pinch (if you squint) of dirty talk, kinda love triangle

Wc: 3,458

Notes: yourself and Luigi have been Inseparable for six years, and the introduction of a new friend into the group throws a wrench into everything.

Before we start, I wanna make a quick note about the title, and where the hell it came from (lol). I was inspired by a tumblr post I came across awhile ago, and it stuck with me, I guess, because I randomly thought of it while I was writing this. That’s all. Enjoy xo

I took this and ran with it.

As usual.

"Who's this guy that she's bringing again?" you ask to the car at large, slumped in the backseat between your roommate Scarlett and the window. Your thumb swipes across your phone screen, watching Chloe’s location dot inch its way across the map while Luigi maneuvers through traffic and Ben fidgets with the radio from the passenger seat.

"I dunno, some guy she met in her new sculpture class this semester," Luigi mumbles through a barely-concealed grimace. The thought of adding another person to their carefully balanced social ecosystem clearly weighs on him. You know he's already mentally rehearsing his nice to meet you smile, the kind that takes more energy than he's willing to spend on a random Tuesday night.

"It'd better not be that kid Cole," you mutter, already dreading the possibility.

And because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, it was absolutely, undeniably, that kid Cole.

It hardly mattered what preconceived notions you’d had about him; they dissolved over time as Chloe started bringing him around more often.

The traits you once found annoying gradually morphed into something oddly endearing.

Still, he never quite seemed to understand the dynamic between you and Luigi.

On movie nights, when the six of you crammed into the living room, a messy sprawl of friends and blankets overtaking the couch and floor, you naturally claimed your usual spot; sprawled out across Luigi’s lap. Tonight was no different. You laid there with your back propped against the arm of the couch, scrolling through Instagram while your bottom half stretched longways over him, as if his lap had always been yours to occupy.

Every so often, you’d interrupt the movie to show him a meme or a video a mutual friend had sent. You’d lean in close, shoulders brushing, stifling your laughter together so as not to disturb the others watching John Wick. “That’s fucked up,” he muttered through a barely-contained chuckle, his eyes still on your phone screen.

Madison lives at home, her daily subway commute to campus a small price to pay for access to her parents' sprawling estate. Their backyard is a mediterranean dream, with a pool large enough to host the entire group of misfits, with room to spare.

You're draped over Luigi as he meanders around the pool's edge, both arms curved naturally around your waist beneath the waster. It's the kind of casual intimacy that comes from years of friendship, comfortable and worn-in. "Cole's actually pretty cool," he muses, tilting his head back expectantly.

You comply with the wordless request, holding the La Croix to his lips so he doesn't have to lift his hands from the water.

"Yeah," you agree, your eyes drifting across the pool to where Cole is pretending not to watch this whole exchange. His gaze darts away the moment yours meets his, like a kid caught stealing. "I really did think he was annoying at first, though."

Scarlett’s birthday party, your arms wrapped around Luigi’s waist, your head tucked beneath his arm as you swayed together and sang happy birthday. The whine as you shared a piece of cake, something about how “Luigi won’t even kiss me in public.” When someone said the two of you would have won prom king and queen if you went to the same high school.

Ben’s party followed just weeks later, the night still young and champagne bubbling through your veins. Luigi's hand clamped desperately over your mouth, but your eyes danced with mischief as you nodded enthusiastically at the circle gathered around you. "Yeah, Lu's got a PhD," you managed to say, and before he could stop you, the words tumbled out against his palm: "A pretty huge dick."

Cole watched.

"Did you know Cassie is seeing Dylan?" Cole asked, matching your frantic pace across campus. The morning fog swallowed your mumbled recitations as you mentally rehearsed your presentation for the hundredth time.

"Yeah, Cole, and I'm fucking Luigi.” you scoffed, the sarcasm dripping over every word like sticky molasses as you rolled your eyes. You yanked open the auditorium doors, disappearing behind them without a backward glance, mind already racing ahead to bullet points and transitions.

The very idea that Cole would believe such obvious campus gossip had you shaking your head as you slid into your seat.

But he did believe it.

He stood frozen in the hallway you'd left him in, staring at the closed doors like they might offer some explanation. "Yeah? I know.” he mumbled to your ghost, the words settling confused and heavy in the empty corridor.

The absolute certainty in his voice would have made you laugh, if you'd been there to hear it.

The seasons had shifted, and with them, Cole's hope had quietly ebbed away. After months of watching you, he'd finally accepted what everyone else seemed to know instinctively — even if Luigi wasn't in the picture, you were simply out of reach.

Saturday night found your usual crew at your claimed table in Madison’s backyard, the surface cluttered with emptied drinks and scattered Uno cards. Luigi absently twisted the rings on your fingers — a mindless habit he'd developed somewhere between freshman year and now — while chaos erupted around you.

The familiar symphony of shouted accusations about who was hiding the Draw Four cards mixed with the glow of phones being passed around, TikToks and screenshots sparking new waves of laughter.

Cole watched the way Luigi's fingers danced over yours, and for the first time, the sight didn't sting quite so much.

“I still can't believe Dylan and Cassie are dating," Cole mused through a cloud of smoke, beer bottle dangling precariously from his left hand while a joint was stuffed between the fingers on his right.

The table fell silent, five pairs of eyes fixing on him with varying degrees of confusion and amusement.

"Who told you that?" Scarlett's voice cut through the stunned silence and the resurrection of a dead and gone campus rumor, her phone screen illuminating her face as Dylan's name flashed across it. "Where did you even hear that?"

Cole's eyes pinballed around the table, finally landing on you and Luigi.

Your hand was caught in one of Luigi's absent-minded gestures, knuckles pressed against his lips while he listened — a habit so commonplace to everyone else that they'd stopped noticing years ago. "Uh— wait—" Cole fumbled, taking a desperate pull from the joint as if the answer might be hiding in the smoke. He passed it to his left and asked through a cough, "Are they not?"

“No, you idiot.” Scarlett threw a lighter at him, which he narrowly dodged.

"Well- why did- “Cole's words stumbled over each other as he locked eyes with you across the table. Your brows knitted together, genuinely bewildered by his desperation. "I- you said they were," he insisted, hand gesturing vaguely in your direction like a drowning man reaching for a life raft.

Scarlett's head whipped toward you so fast her earrings clinked, a new lighter in her hand that was suddenly transformed into a weapon of interrogation, the flame pointed in your direction. "You what?"

"I didn't say that!" Your hands flew up defensively, face flushing as you ransacked your memory for any conversation that could've led to this moment.

But your mind offered nothing but static.

"I asked you if you could believe they were- and-“Cole gestured helplessly at Luigi, who was studying your profile with the intense focus of someone who'd stopped processing verbal language three hits ago. His fingers hadn't stopped their absent dance with your rings once you lowered your hands again from your surrender to Scarlett’s mercy, muscle memory outlasting coherent thought.

Cole felt like he'd stumbled into an alternate dimension where everyone spoke a language he'd never learned while those same pairs of eyes dissected him with the kind of judgment only drunk twenty-somethings could muster, making him feel about two inches tall. "And you said 'yeah, and I'm fucking Luigi,'" he defended weakly, the words sounding more ridiculous with each passing second.

"Yeah!" You practically launched across the table, laughter threatening to bubble over as understanding finally dawned. "Because I'm not!" The force of your declaration nearly knocked over someone's beer, but you were too busy watching Cole's face transform as the shoe finally, finally dropped.

Luigi, for his part, just kept twisting your rings, lost somewhere between the fourth dimension and your knuckles.

Cole's jaw went slack, his eyes darting around the table again where this time everyone had suddenly developed an acute interest in hiding their smirks behind their hands — a masterclass in delayed politeness. "What?" He practically shoved the joint away when it circled back, as if too-late sobriety might make this make more sense. "But- but the dick size jokes and- and you tell everyone he won't kiss you in public."

"Oh, you poor thing." Chloe dabbed at her eyes, tears of mirth threatening to ruin her mascara. "She's always done that shit." The words came out half-strangled by suppressed laughter.

Months passed, and Cole transformed into your personal guardian angel. One desperate NEED SUGAR NOW OR DEATH text to the group chat, and he'd materialize with your favorite convenience store candy before anyone else had even read the message.

He collected details about you: the way your nose scrunched at certain perfumes, how you could quote every line from that one movie, the specific shade of purple that made your eyes light up. When he finally told you he liked you — really liked you, more than he'd ever liked anyone — you said you liked him too.

The gravitational shift was subtle at first — like planets realigning. Your usual perch in Luigi's lap gradually migrated to the chair beside Cole, a transition so natural that few noticed, not even you.

It came to a head one Saturday when Luigi texted his absence from movie night, claiming a sudden illness.

The excuse was paper-thin, and you both knew it.

You stood outside his building, jabbing the buzzer with the familiarity of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. "I know you're not sick, Luigi." Your voice crackled through the intercom, bouncing off the walls of his apartment where he lay curled into himself on the sofa, rigid as rigor mortis. "I can see your Oura ring stats." The betrayal of technology made him groan, and the offending ring went sailing across the room, a tiny meteor of exposed lies.

His father knows the developer.

That's the only reason he'd agreed to wear the damn thing — a circular shackle of obligations that now betrayed him from somewhere under his coffee table.

Your finger finds the buzzer again, gentler this time.

"C'mon, bub. I miss you." The sweetness in your voice hits him like a sucker punch, memories of simpler times wrapped in those words. "It can be me and you tonight. We can have a bestie night." The offer dangles like a Time Machine to the past — back when your world was just two planets in perfect orbit, before it expanded into a solar system of friends.

Before Cole ever came around.

Luigi appears in the doorway like a ghost, just as you're about to admit defeat. Your face splits into a grin, but it falters when you really look at him. "God." Your eyes track the sharp edges of his collarbones beneath his shirt. "Have you been eating?" The question trails behind you as you follow him up the familiar path to the second floor.

The apartment feels wrong — like walking into a black and white version of a color photograph you know by heart. Every blind drawn tight against the afternoon sun, as if he's been developing emotional negatives in the dark. "Hey, what's going on?" Your fingers find his forearm, anchoring him before he can drift away again. "This is kinda giving me flashbacks to when you failed your final."

He flinches like you've pressed on a bruise, eyes scanning his self-made darkness as if seeing it for the first time - the familiar choreography of his pain laid bare by your observation. "This definitely feels different from that." His voice comes out hollow, each word carefully chosen to dance around the real issue.

"Better, or worse?"

"I don't know."

He sinks back into his spot on the couch, the oversized blanket making him look smaller than you've ever seen him. His eyes fix on the half-finished Lego set on his coffee table — the Millennium Falcon he'd started weeks ago, now collecting dust mid-construction.

Three hundred pieces still sealed in their bags, waiting.

"Is it your mom?" you try, but Luigi shakes his head. "Is it school?" Another head shake. "Work?" No. "Was it your aunt Lisa again? That bitch—" He cuts you off with another shake. "Is it me?"

The question hangs there, and Luigi pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, refusing to meet your eyes.

He lets out a long breath, knowing he's trapped himself here — in this moment, in this conversation, in this truth he's been avoiding.

No way out.

"What?" You cross the room in three quick strides, dropping beside him and tugging at the blanket he's using as camouflage. "What do you mean, Lu? C'mon." Your hands search for any part of him that isn't wrapped in fleece, but he's determined to stay hidden. "What did I do?"

Luigi's eyes catch yours for a fraction of a second before darting away. "I really just want to sleep." The words come out muffled as he tries to fold himself smaller, but you're faster, yanking the blanket down before he can disappear completely. "Please."

"Luigi.” Your voice cracks, and you don't try to hide it. You've never had to beg him for anything before, not in all your years of friendship. "I can't leave knowing you're upset with me." It's the rawest truth you have, stripped down to its bare bones on the couch cushions between you. "Come on. Talk to me."

The silence grows so thick you could suffocate in it, until Luigi finally breaks it with a mumble. "How come you only make jokes about fucking me?" His throat works visibly before he adds, "And not anyone else?"

The question hits you like a slap. Your eyes drift across his coffee table, taking inventory — the joint still smoldering in the ashtray, his anti-anxiety meds beside it, a forgotten Gatorade from the night before.

Everything a testament to hours spent alone with his thoughts.

You drag in a deep breath, searching for words you've never had to examine before. "I mean — that's what we do, you know-"

"No," he cuts you off, voice sharpened. "It's what you do."

"Lu." Your spine straightens as confusion settles in. "Why is this suddenly an issue? I've always- I've always made those kind of jokes about us. How everyone thinks we're dating all the time." You stretch yourself forward, trying to catch his eye, but he keeps his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. "I just lean into it, I guess. I didn't know it bothered you."

He sighs, the sound muffled as he drags his hands down his face. "It doesn't bother me."

"Then," frustration bleeds into your voice as you throw your hands up, lost in whatever conversation he's having three steps ahead of you. "What do you fucking mean?"

"I- I mean-" His tongue clicks against his teeth, each word coming slow like he's translating from another language. "It doesn't bother me in that way."

"In what way?"

"In the way that means you saying you'd fuck me bothers me."

"But you just said it bothers you."

"No,” he says, “I didn't."

Heat rises up your neck as your patience frays.

Your mind twists itself into knots trying to decode whatever puzzle he's laying out between you. "Look at me." The command comes out sharper than intended as you try to yank the blanket away from him. "Fucking look at me!"

The blanket rips from your hands with unexpected force, sending you sprawling onto his hardwood floor. Your oversized sweater is the only thing saving your tailbone from a bruising. "You fucking asshole." The words come out hot as you fumble for your boots to put over the socks that betrayed you in their slipperiness, and just as you manage to wrangle one on, Luigi emerges from his cocoon, fixing you with a look that stops you cold.

"I mean I guess-“ He clears his throat, looking down at you with that familiar steady gaze, but there's something different layered over it now, something raw. "I mean- Why wouldn't you fuck me?"

The question hits like a fist to the cheekbones.

You freeze, one boot half-laced, mouth hanging open as heat floods you to your temples.

Of all the directions this could have gone, you never expected this brand of brutal honesty, delivered while you're sprawled ungracefully on his living room floor and wrestling with your shoelaces.

Your eyes dart between the coffee table and his face, pieces clicking together with nauseating clarity. "What kind of question is that?" The words come out sharp as your fingers hook uselessly around your boot laces.

"Well, what kind of joke is it to go around telling everyone we fuck?" He throws your logic back at you with devastating precision. "What's so funny about that?"

You bury your face in your hands, a groan muffled against your palms. Every memory floods back at once — all those times he tried to stop you from making dick jokes, all those moments people assumed you were dating and you played it up while he went quiet.

Six years of friendship viewed through this new lens makes your stomach lurch, and another heavy sigh tears from your chest.

"Can you at least tell me?" Luigi's voice comes out barely above a whisper, watching you curled up on his floor like a wounded animal.

You finally lift your head, meeting his stare head-on. "Do you want me to say I'd fuck you?"

The silence wraps around you both like a physical thing, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as color floods his cheeks. "Huh?" You arch an eyebrow, challenging. "Want me to say how hard I'd do it?" Your discarded boot connects with his shin. "How I know you whimper."

As if on cue, a small sound escapes him — half whine, half breath. He's still staring at you like you've knocked all the air from his lungs, struck speechless while you press your newfound advantage.

You move closer, settling between his knees as the blanket slips from his shoulders. With gentle pressure, you ease him back against the couch. "Want me to tell you how none of it was ever really a joke?" Your hand rests against his chest, feeling his heartbeat race beneath your palm. "How every time that you felt me push my ass against your dick wasn’t just your imagination?”

Luigi reaches for you then, fingers trembling as they find your skin — reverent and careful. He's always been tactile with you, always finding excuses to be close. He knows the map of your hands better than you do, how your breathing changes when you drift to sleep, all the little things that make you who you are. "I knew it," he whispers as you settle against him, both of you finally exactly where you're meant to be.

You'd spent so long pushing these thoughts away, rationalizing every touch as just his nature — absent patterns traced on your skin during movies, fingers intertwined during conversations, gentle pressure points mapped across your arms during lengthy lectures.

Each gesture filed away as mindless habit.

But this was different. Every point of contact now carried weight, intention.

"I'd fuck you too," Luigi murmurs, drawing you closer, face pressed against your sweater. His hands spread warm and steady across your back, holding you like something precious, something he's afraid might slip away. “And I’d whine as much as you wanted.”

The next week comes floating by once again, Cole hurrying beside you as you rush to your next lecture, desperately trying to untangle your earbuds, hearing Luigi’s voice echo in your mind, laughing at you for your resistance toward Bluetooth devices. “I - I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to-“

“I’m fucking Luigi.” You turn to Cole, your expression deadpan but fixed, serious but not all that concerned before the doors of the auditorium are flung open, and once again, you vanish behind them.

Cole bursts into a fit of giggles at the thought, realizing now that believing such a thing would be mean he was naive — he’s since learned from his mistakes. “Yeah.” He murmurs to himself, “And Cassie and Dylan are still dating.”

The Safe House - Part 3

luigi x unnamed reader fluff (a kiss?)

summary: fluff ! luigi and reader wake up in the vermont cabin, spend the morning together <.< coffee, showers, painting? its short lol

1,206w

PART 1

PREV FIC: PART 2

AN: jimmy butler to the warriors im sorry i feel like these are all trash but lmk what you think.

The Safe House - Part 3

How did I sleep longer than him? He was dead on his feet last night. Practically sleepwalking. But now he’s gone.I fling the blanket off of me and put my feet on the floor, cold against the worn-out wood, and I hear the shower running down the hall.

I get up, padding to the kitchen in my socks. There’s a box of muffins on the counter, one of those assorted grocery store packs. I grab a random one along with a banana, peeling it open and taking a big bite.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes me look up.

Luigi steps out, steam curling behind him, wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. His curly hair is damp, beads of water trailing down his toned shoulders and back. He doesn’t even look in my direction, just walks across the hall into the guest room. I barely catch a glimpse before the door clicks shut, but it’s enough to leave me breathless.

Jesus.

I swallow, finishing my banana too fast, nearly choking on it.

i turn back to the coffee maker and try to focus on making a pot. Im distracted by the sudden heat creeping up my neck. i shouldn’t be this flustered. By the time Ben shuffles out of his room, I got a few mugs lined up.

He takes one, mutters a half-hearted, “Mornin’,” and sits at the island counter, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Did you sleep?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

He grunts in response and takes a sip of his coffee.

It’s not long before Luigi reappears, fully dressed now, in some random clothes i swear are ben’s.. He moves toward the counter, right next to me, smelling like fresh body wash and warm skin. It’s too early for this. My pulse is already doing something stupid

“You woke up before me,” I say, still a little thrown by it.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter. “It’s hard to stay asleep.”

i glance at him, his dark curls still damp and defined.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, “Have you painted anything yet since getting here?”

I blink, caught off guard. “Actually, yeah. I’ve finished two pieces and have a few others in progress.”

Ben smirks around his coffee. “You gonna paint a tragic portrait of this idiot?”

“Maybe.” i shoot back.

Ben snorts, shaking his head as he pushes off the counter, mumbling something about how we’re both weird, and heads upstairs, leaving just me and Luigi in the kitchen.

Luigi turns toward me fully now, his expression softer, brows pulling together. “Can you show me?”

"Yeah," I say, nodding quickly. "Yeah, c’mon."

I lead him toward the makeshift studio space I’ve set up in the loft, where canvases lean against the floor to ceiling windows, some finished, but most are half attempted ideas.

He steps past me, looking at all of it. and i get nervous. 

I bring him to an easel where my most recent piece is sitting, just finished.

“This one is newer. It’s supposed to represent feeling … out of control. Like there’s an unstoppable force, moving.” I point at the broad, deliberate strokes. “And this is the subject, whos anchored.”

He tilts his head toward the painting, eyes narrowing slightly 

“This is the movement?” he asks as he follows the direction of a brushstroke with his finger, tracing an invisible path in the air. 

I nod, excited. “Exactly! It’s like…”

Then it happens. He lowers his hand but his finger gets too close. 

 A streak of deep blue smears across the entire thing. Immediate and irreversible. A dark, muddy streak where my careful layers once were. We both gasp in unison.

“Oh my god,” he says, freezing like he just set off a bomb. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m-”  He looks at his hand, then at the painting, then back at me. “Shit. I ruined it.”

He tries to somehow put the paint he smeared back onto the canvas, but it just ruins it more. 

Luigi panics and looks at me, making a noise like he’s in physical pain from guilt.

I should be mad. This took me days. But he looks so horrified, like he just committed an actual crime, which, considering his actual crimes, makes this even funnier. He doesn’t feel bad about putting three bullets in Brian Thompson, but smudging some paint is unforgivable.

I can’t help it. I’m laughing. And somehow, the only thing I feel is affection. "Luigi, it’s fine."

"It is not fine! Oh my god…" He looks like he wants to throw himself into traffic, it’s pleasuring me.

And then, on impulse, I drag my finger right through the smear, making it worse.

His mouth falls open. “What are you doing?!”

“Adding to your idea.” I step back. The painting is different now. Not how I intended it to be, but it doesn’t look half bad. “It actually looks kinda cool.”

He’s still watching me, unsure if i’m messing with him. I smile and nudge him lightly with my elbow. “Wanna sign your name in the corner?”

His brows pull together. “I’m not an artist.”

I shrug. “Now you are.”

Something shifts in his expression. Like what I said actually got through to him in a way he wasn’t expecting. He stares at me, really stares, like I just handed him some kind of truth about himself that he wasn’t ready for.

Then, slowly, he nods. “You’re right.”

He picks up a brush, dips it into the paint, and scrawls his name in the bottom right corner.

Luigi.

I stare at it, then at him. “It’s kinda surreal seeing that.”

His voice is quieter now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean… you were gone for months,we all thought you were dead. And now we’re making art together..”

Theres a beat, he leans against the wall, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Did you miss me?”

I scoff. “No.”

He smirks. “Liar.”

I roll my eyes, but my face is hot. “Where were you, anyway?”

He looks at me, probably gauging how much to say. “A few places.”

“Thats real specific, Lu.”

He diverts, “Last time I saw you, we were at that party.”

I blink. “Yeah. We…” I gesture awkwardly, a bit embarrassed, “ you know”

“We kissed.”

His gaze flickers to my mouth, just for a second. Then, so softly, like he’s testing the words, he says, “You’re the only person who knows I’m alive right now.”

My pulse is too loud in my ears. “I know.”

His hand lifts slightly, like he might touch me, but he hesitates. “That doesn’t freak you out?”

I shake my head. “No.”

His hand finally moves, fingertips tracing the back of my arm. He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath when he speaks. “You sure?”

I don’t get the chance to answer.

because then, he kisses me.

It’s hungry, needy, like he’s been thinking about this for a while and won’t wait another second.. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers curling just enough to make me shiver. I press into him, and he groans into my mouth, deep and low, like this kiss is pulling something out of him he didn’t even know he had, and hes holding it back.

I grasp at his shirt, tugging, pressing, needing more, and he gives it to me, kissing me deeper, harder, until my knees feel weak.

We break apart. His breathing is ragged, pupils huge.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I missed you.”

this gif is something I take extremely seriously

Summer Nights with Spencer Reid

touch || luigi mangione

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

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

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

WC: 2.8k

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

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

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

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

“Can you help me then?”

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

“Get the girls to do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Luigi.”

“O-of course.”

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

“You do?”

“I do.”

“I like you too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” 

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

“Yeah?” You chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

One hour to gametime.

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

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

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

“Please… I need you to fuck me.”

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

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

From confident to straight up begging to be inside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

“What? How?”

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

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

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

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

'O Sole Mio'

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

1,080w

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promise,” I lied.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God, Lu, what did you do?”

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

“Finish the story, Luigi.”

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

“You didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Luigi, NO.”

“I will sing it for you.”

And let me tell you, it was terrible.

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

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

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

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

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

I shook my head.

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

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

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

This was real for him.

“I do know, Lu,” I said quietly.

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

My breath caught in my throat at that.

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

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

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

~~~

What a beautiful thing is a sunny day.

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