sweetclassnotes3

[sweetclassnotes3]

Luigi is so hot and it is making the devil sweat

I’m ovulating….help

[sweetclassnotes3]

A mug I definitely give to Luigi cause he’s that nerd

[sweetclassnotes3]

You're my level of freak. I like u

lol, thank you. When it comes to Luigi, I am.

[sweetclassnotes3]

Yes daddy, whatever you say. I’m at my knees. I swear he’s going to be the death of me.

[sweetclassnotes3]

i heard my mangionismo ask gave u an idea 👀 i'm glad to be of service ;) 🤍

Say Please

A/N: That look on Luigi’s face? The wide eyes? The parted lips? Yeah — that man is begging to be underneath you. So thank you for the idea… consider this me being of service right back 💋 @luigislady @mangionismo

TW: NSFW, sub!Luigi, riding him into oblivion, light overstim

He was so cocky. So smug. Until you climbed on top of him. Now he’s gasping beneath you — flushed, fucked-out, begging.

———

Luigi always acted like he was in control.

That was his whole thing — the silver-tongued charm, the lazy smirks, the cocky jokes with one hand on your waist like he owned you.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he’s flat on his back, thighs spread, hands gripping your hips like they’re the only thing anchoring him to this earth — and you’re the one in control.

You’re straddling his lap, hips rolling slow, dragging your soaked pussy along the length of his cock without even letting him in yet.

And he’s panting. Whimpering.

Red-cheeked and glassy-eyed.

“Baby,” he groans, eyes flicking down to where you’re pressed against him. “Please.”

You tilt your head.

“Please what, Luigi?”

He swallows hard. Tries to thrust up into you, but you press your palms to his chest and hold him down. Lean over him slowly, letting your breath ghost across his neck.

“Use your words.”

He lets out the softest sound — almost a whine.

“I want it.”

“You want what?”

“You. Fuck — please ride me.”

God, he’s so needy. So undone. You can feel his cock twitch beneath you, leaking against your folds. He’s been hard for what feels like forever — ever since you climbed on top of him, kissed down his chest, and refused to let him take over.

Now he’s breathing like he’s drowning.

You lift your hips, just enough to tease the head of his cock against your entrance.

And his eyes flutter.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“Who’s in charge, Mangione?”

He shudders. “You are.”

“Who’s got you like this?”

“You do, fuck — you do.”

You lower yourself onto him slowly.

Inch by inch, dragging him inside until he’s buried to the hilt.

And the sound he makes?

It’s not fair.

A choked-off moan, raw and broken, his head falling back against the pillow as his fingers dig into your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “Feels so good.”

You start to move — slow, deliberate rolls of your hips — and he watches you with the most desperate fucking expression, lips parted, brow furrowed, completely wrecked.

You’re not even bouncing yet. Just riding him slow. Grinding.

But his whole body trembles beneath you.

You reach down, brush his cheek.

“You’re so pretty like this.”

He moans.

“Like being underneath me, huh?”

“Yeah,” he gasps. “Love it. Love watching you ride me.”

You lean over him again, fingers sliding under his jaw, tilting his chin up.

“Open.”

He obeys without hesitation.

You spit in his mouth.

And God — the way he groans, tongue flicking out to taste it, hips bucking helplessly into yours — it’s almost enough to make you come on the spot.

“Good boy,” you purr.

He whimpers. Actually whimpers.

“Keep talking,” he begs. “Fuck, please — keep talking to me like that.”

You smile, start to bounce on him now, slow but deep.

“You like when I praise you, baby?”

He nods frantically.

“You like being my good boy? Just laying there, taking it?”

His head tips back again, mouth open, hands gripping your thighs like a prayer.

“Yes, fuck, I’m yours — I’m all yours, baby.”

You ride him faster.

And he loses it.

“F-fuck — you feel so good. So wet. I’m not gonna last—”

You slow your movements just enough to make him sob.

“Hold it.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying—”

You lace your fingers with his, pin his hands above his head as you fuck yourself on his cock, harder now, wetter, the obscene slap of skin against skin echoing in the room.

His moans get higher. Desperate.

“Baby — baby, I can’t—please let me—”

“Beg.”

He gasps. “Please.”

“Look at me.”

He does. Barely. Eyes glazed, lips trembling.

“I’m gonna come, fuck — please let me come—”

You slow just a little, grinding your hips in tighter circles.

And then you lean in, kiss his lips.

“Good boy,” you whisper. “Come for me.”

He breaks.

Arching off the bed, moaning into your mouth, spilling inside you so deep you swear you can feel the way he pulses with it.

And still, you don’t stop moving.

You ride him through it — slow now, sweet, letting him whimper beneath you as he twitches and shakes, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smile, still rolling your hips.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

He groans. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

“…Yeah,” he breathes. “I really fucking do.”

You kiss him again.

Slow. Deep.

And then you whisper against his lips:

“Next time, I wanna sit on your face.”

Luigi’s eyes flutter open.

And then he grins, dazed and breathless and already hardening again.

“Say less.”

[sweetclassnotes3]

Don’t Pretend You’re Not Mine

Summary: You're not his and he's not yours. At least you didn't think so. Nothing's official. But that doesn't stop Luigi from dragging you upstairs at your sorority party

cw: Rough sex, overstimulation, heavy daddy kink, oral sex (m&f), p in v sex, creampie, slapping, dubcon, dumbification, brat taming

AN: Hi everyone!! this is a collab I’ve done with my good friend @iinfinitelimits !!!!! her idea and i just followed her lead!!! Hope you enjoy our daddy kink filth!!!

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It began on the kind of night that smells like shitty coffee and late deadlines.

Midterms week, fluorescent lights, and a quiet, tucked-away corner on campus where you were sure no one would look. You were both supposed to be studying but instead you ended up straddling him in a stall in the men’s bathroom that no one would be using at that time of night. Eager grinds, swollen lips, breaths caught between giggles and moans.

You never talked about it after it happened the first time. You didn’t feel the need to—no promises, no check-ins either. Just the heat of your bodies pressed together and hushed. A pattern found in half-zipped jeans and stolen kisses. His hands on your hips and your mouth on his neck. And more often, the soft click of his door closing at midnight.

You don’t call it anything and you don’t dare ask if he’s seeing anyone else. And you sure as hell don’t tell anyone. It’s just something that happens. Again. And again. And again. Becoming this quiet rhythm you both dance along to without thinking.

Until the party at your sorority house a few months later.

By midnight the house is a blur of laughter, cheers from the beer pong table, and the loud bass of the EDM tracks blasting from speakers. You’re in your element, exchanging stories with your sorority sisters, flirtatious looks with frat guys, and tossing back shots.

You end up in a corner of the room talking to some guy- Brad, or maybe Chad - about the upcoming football game. He’s cute, if a bit of an airhead.

Brad-Chad cracks a joke and you bend over laughing. As you straighten up you see Luigi standing across the room, alone, by the drinks table.

You’re surprised to see him - he usually doesn’t come to your house parties- but you’re even more surprised by the look on his face. Luigi is staring at Brad-Chad in pure rage.

“Uh, let’s go play beer pong,” you say to the boy, eager to escape Luigi’s increasingly hostile gaze.

“Ok,” he replies easily, but you’ve only taken a few steps when you feel someone grab your upper arm tightly.

“Ow! What the fuck—��

“Shut up,” a familiar voice hisses in your ear. Suddenly you smell him, a mix of cologne and jealousy, sharp enough to almost taste. Luigi barely spares a glance at you. He’s looking at Brad-Chad with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, cold and calculated.

“She’ll be back later,” Luigi practically growls at him.

Instantly you’re being dragged through room after room with no regard for the masses of students crowding around you or the increasing number of stares he’s drawing.

“Luigi, what the hell are you doing? You can’t just pull me away from a conversation!” you shout over the heavy music overhead. People turn their heads to stare, but Luigi keeps a grip on your upper arm so tight that it’s nearly painful.

“Shut up,” he mutters again, dragging you to the base of the stairs. There he finally releases you. Hissing, you rub your arm and glare at him.

“What’s your problem?” you almost shout at him.

“My fucking problem? Are you deadass right now?” Luigi’s face is an unusual shade of red, his lips pressed into a thin line. His normally charming and controlled demeanor is nowhere to be found.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing with that fucking loser?” he gestures vaguely towards the direction of Brad-Chad.

“Laughing and touching his arm…” his voice drops lower, practically snarling at you. “Don’t tell me you actually found him fucking funny.”

Luigi doesn't even wait for whatever snappy comeback you were planning on giving him. Instead, he suddenly hoists you over his shoulder as if you weigh no more than a bag of groceries. You squeal, trying to squirm out of his grasp. Instead he jostles you, getting a tighter grip around your thighs, and walks up to the second floor.

“Which door is yours?” he demands roughly. “Tell me right now before I kick down every fucking door.”

Then, his hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp slap that makes you jump. “Now.”

You gulp, pointing at your door.

He barges into your room, slamming the door behind him. He sets you down roughly on your bed, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You wanted to get fucked huh?” he asks, voice rough. “All you had to do was ask, baby. Why are you going around acting like a little slut?” he spits out, voice dripping with venom. “Gonna go sleeping around with every guy who looks at you–” his face is inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

Luigi doesn’t finish his sentence before you suddenly reach out and slap him across the face.

“Fuck!” His hand flies to his cheek where your palm landed.

“Watch your fucking mouth!” you snarl.

For a moment he looks stunned, his eyes widening in shock. Then his face contorts with anger and something else…desire? He lunges at you, catching your wrists and pinning them above your head against the wall. “Make me,” he growls. “See if I give a fuck if you slap me again. I’ll fuck that smart mouth of yours shut.”

His body presses against yours, trapping you between him and the wall. Your wrists strain against his grip, chest heaving as his breath ghosts across your face. Then, you feel it. Pressed against your hip, hard and thick.

You blink, lips curling into a scoff. “Seriously?” you snort, “you’re fucking hard from me slapping your face?”

His jaw twitches but he doesn’t deny it nor does he move. He just stares at you like you’ve just flipped a switch he never meant to turn on.

“You’re fucking sick,” you breathe, almost laughing.

His hand drops from your wrists only to grip your jaw, firm and hot. He tilts your face up, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“You’re talking when your thighs are clenched like that?” His voice is a low rasp. “Bet your pussy’s just as fucking soaked as I am hard.”

You hate that he’s right. Hate it more than he knows. His grip shifts, fingers sliding down your throat like he’s holding back from squeezing it, like he’s savoring how close he is to losing control.

“I should remind you who the fuck you belong to,” he mutters, low and dangerous. “You think you can walk around acting like you’re not mine?” Your breath catches. He’s so close, you can feel the heat of his mouth just barely brushing yours.

“You forget who fucks you right,” he breathes. “Who takes care of this pussy time and time again? Keep playing with me and I’ll make sure that pretty little voice is gone tonight.”

“You don’t own me, Luigi,” you say, but your confidence falters under the look in his eyes and it comes out more like a whimper.

“Awww,” he coos condescendingly. “I don’t? Then why,” he yanks up your dress and slips a finger under your panties, making you gasp, “are you dripping wet right now?”

“I - I hate you,” you stammer.

“You can hate me all you want,” he whispers, breath hot against your lips, “but this pussy knows she belongs to me.”

And then his lips crash against yours. It’s not soft. It’s not slow or passionate. It’s dark, hungry, and possessive. It’s a claim.

His fingers start to move, rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles. You squirm beneath his touch, thighs twitching against his hand as he circles your clit like he owns it.

You hate how easy it is for him to unravel you. How your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

“We never…” you gasp, trying to steady your voice, “we never said this was anything.”

But your hips betray you, bucking forward into his fingers, chasing friction you swore you didn’t want.

“No,” he murmurs, “but your pussy says otherwise.”

He leans in close, voice curling around your ear like smoke. “You’re trying to act like you’re not loving every second of this, but your pussy’s telling me a whole different story.”

Your breath catches, cheeks hot with shame, desire, and something deeper. Darker. Something dangerous you don’t want to name.

Then he tilts your chin again, smirking.

“Yea,” he laughs condescendingly. “This pussy’s always so wet for Daddy, hm?”

A moan slips from your lips and you turn away, trying to hide your face so that he can’t see what he already knows - that the word drives you crazy. But Luigi just grabs your chin with one large hand, forcing you to face him.

“Answer me,” he demands. His eyes are blazing, hot and hungry with something darker than lust.

But your brain, a fucked-out mess of desire and shame, makes it hard to think.

Suddenly you feel a sharp slap on your ass, making you squeal at the delicious mix of pain and pleasure. When you try to wriggle away, Luigi’s hands instantly fly to your hips, pinning you down. Another smack lands on your ass, making you jerk. You feel yourself growing even wetter.

“Use your words when Daddy asks you a question,” Luigi hisses.

“Yes,” you moan. Luigi smacks your ass again and then rubs a hand over the area he just spanked.

“Nuh-uh.” He withdraws his fingers from your clit, and you whine shamelessly, biting down a sob. He smirks at you.

“What do you say?” His lips slide down the side of your neck, wet and hot, one hand grabbing yours when you scrabble at his fingers to pull them back onto your clit.

“Yes… Daddy,” you breathe.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and he lifts his fingers to your lips. “Open.”

You obey. What other choice do you have?

Luigi’s eyes darken as he shoves two fingers into your mouth, almost making you gag. You can taste yourself on him, sharp and tangy.

“There’s my good girl,” he coos. “Now why were you acting like a little slut when all you had to do was come find me?”

You whimper around his fingers, trying not to choke. His eyes are glued to your face, soaking up every gag, every twitch of your lips around him.

Then, just as quickly, he yanks his fingers from your mouth and wipes them messily across your cheek, like he’s marking his territory.

“C’mere,” he commands, voice low and dangerous.

You hesitate for half a second and that’s all it takes for him to grab you by the hips and haul you himself. His hands are everywhere–gripping, pulling, claiming. He turns you roughly, yanks the straps of your dress down your shoulders, not even bothering with finesse.

The fabric pools at your feet.

“No bra?” he scoffs. “Figures.”

His fingers snap the waistband of your panties before dragging them down your thighs. You nearly stumble, still breathless, but he catches you by the waist, thumb coming up to stroke just under your jaw, holding you steady.

“You don’t get to look this fucking pretty and act like you’re for anyone else,” he hisses in your ear. “You’re mine.”

He shoves you toward the bed. You fall back with a gasp, legs spread just enough for him to see what he already knows–that you’re dripping for him.

Luigi undoes his belt with a sharp clink, ripping it through the loops like he’s seconds from losing control. He kicks off his jeans and boxers, his cock flushed and heavy, bobbing against his stomach.

He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at you, naked and spread out for him. One hand wraps around his dick, slow and tight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fist sliding over his length. “Laid out and trembling like some slut. All wet for me, and you were really out there laughing it up with some fucking loser.”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Just a needy, ruined breath.

“Mm-mm.” He strokes himself faster, tip leaking, chest rising and falling. “Don’t speak. Just watch.”

You do. Eyes locked on his fist, dragging over that thick length you can almost already feel inside you–stretching you, wrecking you. His precum beads at the tip, glistening in the dim light of your bedroom.

Then he moves forward. One knee presses into the mattress. He leans over you, palm flat beside your head, cock resting against your inner thigh. His other hand still pumping slow and mean.

“Open your mouth.”

You hesitate, barely a second, before you part your lips for him.

He doesn’t give you time to prepare. Just hocks and spits directly into your mouth–hot, thick, and filthy. Your eyes flutter as you swallow it on instinct, cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps. “You’ll take whatever I give you, won’t you? ‘Cause you’re mine.”

You nod, already dizzy from the dominance dripping off him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, big hands coming up to grab your breasts. “Love these tits.” You whimper when he squeezes, pinching your nipples harshly between his long, thin fingers. He smirks down at you. “Look at you already desperate for Daddy.” His voice is low and dripping with a smug satisfaction.

Luigi leans back, kneeling between your spread legs, and grips your thighs, pushing them wider apart until the cool air hits your soaked core and you bite your lip subconsciously.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds,” he says one hand sliding up your thigh, teasingly close to where you need him to be. “I want to hear every fucking one,” he growls.

His fingers trace the edge of your pussy, lovingly dripping with arousal just enough to make you squirm. You buck your hips in response, instinctively chasing his touch, but he pins you down with his other hand flat on your stomach, his strength unmatched.

“Nah, baby,” he chuckles darkly “You don’t get to call the shots tonight. You’ve been acting like such a little pick-me, flirting with that loser, so now you’re gonna take what I give you.”

Your breath hitches a mixture of fear and arousal. “I wasn’t-” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your inner thigh. The sting is hot and begins melting into pleasure, making you gasp.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, eyes narrowing “I saw you laughing, touching his arm like you didn’t know I was watching. Do you think that’s any way to treat your Daddy?”

His hand slides up grabbing your pussy, just holding his hand there possessively. “You think he knows this pussy like I do? Think he can make it squirt like I do?”

Your thighs tense, heat blooming beneath his palm, your mind reeling from the rough claim of his touch. You open your mouth to protest, to give an explanation, but all that escapes is a ragged whimper. His gaze burns into yours, daring you to deny him, waiting for you to try and push him away, but you both know you won’t.

“I didn’t mean to–” you start, but Luigi just crushes your mouth with his.

“Shut up,” he snarls, and then he pulls his hand back from you. You whimper at the absence of warmth, but a second later you feel a sharp slap to your clit, sending a jolt of stinging heat straight through your core, ripping a broken cry from your throat.

Luigi claps one of his hands over your mouth and then you feel it: two long fingers slide inside you harshly. Your loud moan is muffled by his hand and drowned out by the sound of squelching, so wet it’s nearly obscene, as his fingers pump in and out of your pussy.

“Where’s your vibrator?”

“What?” you gasp, trying to think clearly through the haze of lust clouding your mind. “Why?”

Luigi pulls his hand out of your pussy and smacks your ass. You whimper at the loss of his fingers.

“Where?” he snarls.

“In… my bottom drawer,” you mumble, your voice still muffled by his hand. Your hand shakes as you point to the bedside table. Luigi leans over, long arm easily reaching the drawer while still keeping his other hand over your mouth. Slowly, your muddied thoughts clear as you realize what he’s about to do.

And then you hear him turn the wand up to its highest level - the one so strong you’ve never even used it on yourself. You freeze. Luigi takes his hand off your mouth to adjust the vibrator, and you make a run for it, lunging out from under him in a desperate attempt to escape.

You don’t even reach the edge of the bed before his big hands grab you by the waist, slapping your ass hard, repeatedly, before pulling you back under him. Luigi pins both your arms over your head in one hand and hovers over you, brown eyes dark and stormy with rage. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growls.

You whimper, body already aching for it, shivering in dark anticipation because you know what’s coming, how he’s going to ruin you for trying to run, and part of you craves it.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not ‘till I’m finished with you.”

And then he slams the wand down over your clit, the intensity of the vibrations making your back arch up off the bed as you let out a scream. Luigi just chuckles down at you, his expression mocking and amused, almost cruel. He pushes the vibrator down even harder, and you come embarrassingly fast, shattering apart, your slick squirting onto the sheets beneath you.

But Luigi doesn’t stop. He maintains the pressure on your pussy as you come down from your peak until you’re writhing and squirming beneath him. Your pulse throbs in your ears, your vision blurs, and all the blood in your body rushes down to your core.

The vibrations are unbearable. In seconds you’re sobbing, tears streaming down your cheeks as the intense pressure has you begging for mercy. “P-p-please, ‘s too much, Lu!” you cry.

He just shushes you. “You can take it, baby girl,” Luigi coos, his breath hot on your neck as his lips slide up to the sensitive spot under your ear. He sucks hard, tongue immediately soothing the pain after.

Your clit begins to throb again. Shame floods your cheeks as you realize what you’re about to ask. “Don’t stop - I want you,” you whisper, looking up at him with big, needy eyes.

Luigi’s eyes narrow. “Oh you want me, huh? Didn’t seem to want me down there when you were talking to what’s-his-face.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Daddy, please just let me cum!” you sob underneath him.

“Wow,” he chuckles. “You really are a little slut for me, aren’t you?” You moan, low and wrecked. And with a smack of his fingers against your clit, you come hard, stars exploding behind your eyelids, your legs shuddering and toes curling.

Mercifully Luigi turns off your vibrator, tossing it carelessly off the bed. You’re gasping for breath beneath him, a sobbing, mewling mess, when he reaches back over to you with a satisfied expression on his face, large hands coming up to knead and squeeze your breasts.

He rolls each of your nipples between two fingers, pursing his lips as if deciding what to do to you next. Still hypersensitive from your orgasm, you feel the pressure straight down in your core. You squeak and try to squirm away, but Luigi holds you in place.

“Please, it’s too much,” you whimper.

“You think I’m letting you rest, baby?” he murmurs, his tone drenched with that dominant edge that makes your core clench. “Nah, Daddy’s not done claiming this pussy.”

You whimper, half in protest but half in need. Your body betrays you as you shift underneath him, thighs pressing together. “Luigi, I–” you begin, but he cuts you off, pulling you by the hips to the edge of the bed with a force that steals your breath. Then he covers you completely, all hard muscle and solid weight, broad shoulders boxing you in, thick arms braced on either side of your head, his chest hot and unyielding as it presses you down. You can feel every line of him, every tense, rippling muscle in his abs flexing with control and power, caging you beneath him. His cock is already hard again and it’s hung low, so low it’s pressing low on your thigh.

“Don’t ‘Luigi’ me.” he growls, grabbing your chin between two strong fingers so that you’re forced to look up into his eyes. “It’s Daddy to you, and you’re going to scream it til’ everyone in this fucking house knows who you belong to.”

Your core clenches in response with a mixture of anticipation, fear, and need.

He climbs off the bed, standing at the edge, his cock glistening with your arousal. He grabs your thighs, jerking you roughly even closer to him, making you yelp.

“On your knees,” he commands, voice low and demanding. “I want you jerking Daddy off.”

You drop your knees to the floor instantly, your heart pounding, your hands now trembling as you reach for him. His cock is heavy and huge in your comparison to your hands, and you stroke him slowly, looking up at him through your lashes. His abs flex above you, his eyes locked on yours, dark with hunger.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts, one hand tangling in your hair, guiding your pace. “Jerk Daddy’s cock like you mean it. You think that fucking loser could make you feel like this? Hm?”

“No,” you whisper, your hands moving faster, twisting slightly, earning a low groan from him that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me,” he mutters, his grip tightening in your hair. “This pussy, and these hands, they’re all mine.” His hips buck instinctively in your hands, and you can feel him throbbing, so close to the edge. “You gonna make Daddy cum, baby? Gonna show him how much you want it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, your voice shaky with need, your own arousal dripping down your thighs as you work him, desperate to please.

His cock twitches under your hands. “Gonna cum,” Luigi mutters, “where do you want it, baby girl?”

“In my mouth,” you whisper.

Luigi’s pupils grow large until his eyes are nearly black. “Open for me,” he commands.

You gaze up at him with wide eyes, tongue hanging out, your thighs growing even wetter in anticipation. “'Atta girl,” he groans, tightening his fist in your hair and gripping your jaw possessively as he releases. Hot ropes of cum shoot out, painting your mouth, tongue, and chin in him.

You swallow obediently. “Let me see,” he murmurs, stroking your throat. You stick out your tongue to show him you’ve swallowed every drop.

“Good girl,” Luigi breathes. “You want Daddy’s cock now?”

You nod eagerly, your head bobbing up and down. You’ll do whatever he asks, apologize a hundred times if you have to, just to relieve the throbbing ache between your thighs.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Daddy, I’m so empty.”

He chuckles, picking you off the floor and tossing you easily onto the bed. “Yea,” he laughs again, sliding a hand up your inner thigh. “I’m the only one who can fill up this perfect little pussy.”

He yanks you toward him by the hips, but instead of his cock, he puts his mouth against you. His warm, wet lips lock around your clit, creating suction to pull it into his mouth. His tongue flicks expertly against your slick folds, drawing tears from your eyes. Luigi gently kneads your clit between his teeth until you’re squirming and your legs are shaking with the force of the pleasure coursing through you.

“Pleaseee,” you moan softly, eyes rolling back in your head, “please, just fuck me!”

Luigi’s dark eyes twinkle up at you devilishly from between your thighs. “Say you’re sorry,” he murmurs against you, the movement sending vibrations through your core.

You’re wet-eyed and whimpering. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please,” you manage to exclaim through your sobs.

Luigi slaps your thigh. “Nope. Say it right.”

The sting barely registers. “Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Say you’re mine,” he commands, his breath hot and teasing against your core.

“I’m yours, Daddy!” you whine.

“That’s right,” he purrs. And then he positions himself above you, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. Luigi drags the tip of his cock, wet with precum, through your slick folds. Shivers spread through your whole body in anticipation of what is coming.

“Ok, baby girl,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your neck, “big stretch.”

And then he pushes into you inch by inch. Despite how wet you are, your pussy burns with the familiar ache as you struggle to let him inside. You hiss and then whimper into his shoulder.

Luigi chuckles. “Aww, I know, baby, I know. Your tiny pussy can barely take me.”

His cock molds to you perfectly, hitting every spot like he was made for you. It feels so good. You bite back a cry; you don’t need to further feed his massive ego.

Luigi presses his hand to your stomach. “You feel that?” he coos. “Yea, that’s mine. My cock in that tight little pussy.”

His other hand encircles your breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, and his thumb teases your nipple.

He starts to move, slow and deliberate, dragging his cock out until just his tip remains, then pushing back in with a deep, punishing roll of his hips. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as the stretch burns and melts into pleasure.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take it,” he growls, voice rough and dark. “Take every inch like a good girl.”

His hand slips from your breast to your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there–reminding you who’s in control. His thrusts stay slow but deep, each one sending a shockwave through your core, making your toes curl.

“Feel how deep I am?” he pants against your ear. “No one else is ever gonna fill you like this. No one else even fucking comes close.”

Your breath stutters, your hands grabbing at his biceps, nails digging in as your body struggles to keep up with the pleasure.

He chuckles low, rolling his hips again, harder this time, making your breath hitch. “Look at you. Falling apart already and I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

He shifts slightly, angling his hips until he hits that perfect spot inside you–again and again–until you’re gasping his name like a prayer.

“Say it,” he demands, fucking into you slow and deep. “Say who’s making you feel this good.”

“Y-you, Daddy,” you cry, thighs trembling from the steady, overwhelming pace.

“Damn right it’s me,” he growls, snapping his hips sharply. “No one else gets this pussy but me.”

But just when your release starts to build, sharp and hot in your belly, Luigi suddenly stills inside you. The stretch of him remains, throbbing deep, but he doesn’t move. You whimper, hips trying to rock against him, desperate for more.

He smiles, slow and mean. “Ah-ah, what do you think you’re doing?” His hand tightens ever so slightly around your throat, enough to make you gasp but not enough to hurt. “You don’t get to cum just because you want to, baby. You cum when I say.”

“Please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

“Please what?” His voice is pure mockery, but there’s heat behind it. “Please, Daddy, don’t stop? Please, Daddy, fuck me until I’m crying again?”

You bite your lip, your pride hanging by a thread. “Please Daddy…please let me cum,” you breathe, eyes glassy and wide.

Luigi groans, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “God, I love when you beg.”

But still, he doesn’t move. He lets you sit there, stuffed full and shaking, your body clenching around him helplessly. His free hand drifts down to your clit, barely brushing it with teasing strokes that only make it worse.

“You’ll wait until I’m ready,” he says, voice dark and possessive. “And when I do let you cum? You’re gonna make a mess all over my cock, aren’t you baby girl?”

Your head nods frantically before you can stop it, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming need.

“Good girl,” Luigi purrs. “Now hold still.”

And with that, he pulls out halfway, then slams back in with one brutal thrust, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You scream, the sound torn from your throat as his cock slams against that perfect, spongy spot inside you. Your whole body jolts beneath him, hands fisting in the sheets as tears spill freely from your eyes.

Luigi grins down at you, sharp and feral. “There she is. My perfect cockdrunk baby. Crying on my cock like I knew you would.”

He sets a brutal pace now, hips snapping against yours with enough force to rock the bed against the wall. The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the room, filthy and raw.

“You think anyone else knows how to fuck you open like this? You wanna come, baby?” He pants, his voice a low snarl.

You try to form words–anything–but your brain is fried, your body reduced to nothing but the heat building deep in your core.

“Go ahead, princess. Cum for me,” Luigi growls. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

And with a sharp, precise roll of his hips, he hits your sweet spot dead on, pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you violently, making your back arch and your vision go white. You sob his name, shaking beneath him as your pussy clamps down hard around his cock.

But Luigi doesn’t cum, not yet at least. He keeps thrusting through your orgasm, slow but deep, dragging every last tremor from your body you’re shaking and whimpering beneath him.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he pants, voice husky and ragged against your ear. “You think we’re done?”

He pulls out suddenly, leaving you clenching around nothing, empty and gasping. His large hands grip your hips, rough and demanding.

“Turn over. All fours. Now,” he growls, voice sharp enough to cut through your haze. “Arch that pretty little back for me.”

You scramble weakly to obey, limbs trembling, head foggy from the aftershocks of your second orgasm. But his hand comes down hard on your ass, making you jolt.

“Higher, princess. I want to see that perfect pussy all spread out for me,” he hisses. “Show Daddy how bad you want it.”

Behind you, you hear the slick sound of him stroking himself once, twice, precum wet against his fist as he lines himself back up.

“Hold still,” he growls. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance, and without warning, he drives himself back inside in one harsh thrust that knocks the air out of you.

You cry out, your fingers twisting in the sheets as your body jerks forward, but Luigi’s hands have a bruising grip on your hips, dragging you right back onto him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head tipping back. “Tight little pussy still squeezing me so good after all that?” His voice is wrecked, dripping with hunger and smug satisfaction.

He starts to thrust hard and deep, relentless, each snap of his hips sending your body jolting forward, only for him to yank you back onto his cock again.

“Look at you,” he pants, slapping your ass hard enough to make you yelp. “Taking it like a good girl…my perfect little fucktoy.”

You whimper, the praise sinking into your skin like fire, shame and arousal tangling together until you can’t tell them apart.

“Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere, huh? Bent over this bed, against a wall, in front of that fucker from earlier if I told you to.” Another sharp thrust. “Because you know this pussy was made for me.”

He leans over you, chest slick with sweat, voice hot against your ear. “My pretty little slut,” he rasps, biting down lightly on your shoulder. “So needy for Daddy’s cock you can’t even think straight, huh?”

His hips roll slow and deep, dragging the thick length of himself along every sensitive spot inside you until you’re trembling again, your mouth hanging open in a soundless moan.

But suddenly, Luigi’s hands slide down to your hips and then lower, resting against your thighs. He stops moving, leaving you trembling and clenching around him.

“Go on,” he says, voice low and dark. “Show me how bad you need it. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You freeze, flushed and breathless, but his large hands smooth slowly up your back, warm and steady, coaxing you forward.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t make me wait.”

Shame burns hot in your chest, but the ache between your thighs is worse. You start to move, rocking your hips back onto him, slow at first, then faster, chasing that stretch, chasing the heat.

His hands glide over your back, fingers splayed wide, feeling every tremble of your muscles as you work yourself on him.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice rough with heat but still sharp with mockery. “So desperate you can’t stop. Had to let you fuck yourself on my dick like the needy little slut you are.”

Your pace stutters, your thighs already shaking, but he laughs softly, running one hand down your spine.

“You needed this bad, didn’t you, baby?” he taunts, hips barely rolling up to meet your frantic pace. “Is that why you were talking to that loser? Just needed Daddy to fuck you right, didn’t you?”

A moan tears from your throat, raw and helpless. “Yes, Daddy–fuck–yes, I needed you,” you cry, grinding back against him shamelessly. “No one else–no one else fucks me like you do.”

He hums in approval, gripping your hips tighter, holding you still for a moment as he lets your words sink in.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and lust. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

You don’t slow down, even as your thighs begin to ache and your body threatens to give out. Instead, you brace your hands against the headboard, arch your back deeper, and start slamming your hips back onto him harder, rough and messy, driving him deeper with your every bounce.

Luigi lets out a low, feral groan, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. “Fuck, baby girl…look at you. Bouncing on my cock like you’re starved for it.”

You glance over your shoulder, giving him your best wrecked smile, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “Want you to cum, Daddy,” you pant, voice shaking but determined. “Wanna feel you fill me up.”

That makes something snap in him. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his stomach tightening under your gaze.

“Oh you’re filthy,” he snarls, but there’s a rough affection beneath it. “Filthy little slut, trying to milk my cock like that.”

You squeeze around him deliberately, rolling your hips just right, slow now, controlled, making him feel every clench of your pussy around his cock. Luigi swears under his breath, his rhythm starting to falter as you take control, grinding on him like you know exactly what he needs.

But then his palm cracks down on your ass again, sharp and claiming. “Think you’re in charge now, huh?” he pants, breathless. “Keep going, baby. Earn it. Make Daddy come for you.”

You slam your hips back onto him again, harder this time, meeting his thrust halfway. The force of it punches a sharp moan out of both of you.

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” Luigi growls, voice wrecked and breathless. He digs his fingers into your waist, bruising, and starts driving his hips forward, hard and fast, challenging your pace instead of controlling it.

It’s rough, sloppy, and frantic–your bodies crashing together, the slap of skin on skin filling the air along with your ragged moans and his filthy praise.

You grind back with everything you have, breath coming in gasps. “Can’t keep up, Daddy?” you taunt between moans, voice shaking but defiant.

That earns you a sharp, biting laugh. “Oh, baby, you have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so your cries echo louder. His thrusts lose their rhythm, turning wild, almost desperate as he fights to stay on top of this tug of war between your bodies.

Your thighs burn, your body trembling, but you don’t stop–you chase the next collision of hips like it’s your only purpose, driving yourself back onto him so hard the bed creaks violently beneath you both.

“You wanted rough? Then fucking take it,” he snarls, snapping his hips up into yours in sharp, punishing thrusts.

Your voice breaks on a gasp, but you meet him stroke for stroke, your whole body flushed, soaked, and shaking. “I can take it, Daddy…can you?”

And for the first time tonight, Luigi falters, his breath catching in his throat as you fight to milk his cock with a ruthless roll of your hips, tightening around him just to hear him groan.

The second you feel his grip in your hair loosen, you take your chance. One of your hands shoots back between your bodies, finding his balls, all hot, heavy, and tight. You roll them in your palm, fingers working him with just the right mix of teasing and pressure, and Luigi lets out a strangled, broken groan, deep and raw from his chest.

“Oh, fuck–” he gasps, hips stuttering violently against yours.

You smirk through your own ragged moans, still grinding your hips back against him without mercy. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” you pant, breathless and smug. “Can’t hold out?”

His fingers clamp down hard on your hips like he’s trying to anchor himself, but it’s no use. The control slips from his gasp, replaced by pure, desperate pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, fuck–” His voice cracks as his orgasm hits him like a freight train.

He slams himself deep inside you and stays there, buried to the hilt, as his cock jerks and pulses, cum spilling deep inside you in hot, thick waves.

But it doesn’t stop after a few seconds, like usual. It keeps going. Long and drawn out. His whole body shakes with it, hips twitching as he keeps spilling inside you, breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps against your back.

You moan at the feeling, arching your back to take every drop.

“Fuckin–Jesus–” Luigi growls, completely wrecked and shaky. “You…fuckin…brat…”

Before you can catch your breath, Luigi’s hand snakes down between your legs. His fingers find your clit, swollen and throbbing, and he delivers a sharp, stinging slap right over it.

Your whole body jerks, a strangled sob ripping from your throat. The shock hits like lightning, sharp and blinding. But before you can recover, he does it again, even harder.

Your legs give out beneath you, trembling violently, but he holds your hips in place. You can barely form a sound before the third slap lands, and that’s what shatters you completely.

Your orgasm explodes out of you like a damn breaking.

You cry out, the sound wrecked and hoarse, as your pussy clenches hard against him, your body shaking uncontrollably. Heat coils tight in your belly before spilling out in wave after wave, gushing around his cock.

Your slick pours out, soaking your thighs, running in sticky rivulets down Luigi’s abs and the sheets below you two. You’re dripping, messy and ruined, and you can’t stop it, even as you try to pull away, the pleasure forces your body to stay open and bare to him.

“Look at that,” Luigi groans low and rough, watching the mess you’re making with hungry eyes. “Fucking perfect. My girl squirting all over me.”

Your whole body pulses with aftershocks, each wave rolling through you sharper than the last. Your thighs twitch violently, barely able to hold you upright, and your arms buckle as your chest heaves against the bed. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, loud and deafening, but somehow beneath it, you can still feel him deep inside you, thick and hot, pulsing against your overstimulated walls.

The room is filled with the ragged sound of your breaths, the sticky, obscene wetness between your thighs, and the faint creak of the mattress under your shaking bodies.

And still, through all of it–through this wreckage of your orgasm, the haze clouding your mind–your voice claws its way out, hoarse, trembling, but steady enough to cut through the tension between you.

“You…need me,” you gasp, the words torn from your throat, “just as much as I need you.”

You force your body to move, to turn your head over your shoulder despite the weakness weighing down your limbs. Your eyes find his–wild, dark, and blown wide with something raw. Something real.

Your voice softens, but the meaning sharpens like a blade. “I own you, too.”

For a long, thick moment, he just stares at you. His chest heaves against your back, muscles tight with restraint, his cock still buried deep inside your wrecked pussy, twitching with the last echoes of his release.

And then, slowly, like a predator catching the scent of blood, that dangerous grin spreads across his face.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice rough from use. He leans down until his chest is slick against your back, trapping you in his heat. His breath ghosts over your ear, low and wrecked.

“Guess we’re both fucked, huh?”

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You just breathe–wrecked and raw, tangled in heat and sweat and everything unsaid between you.

Then, finally, Luigi exhales a shaky breath and slowly pulls out, his cock slipping free of your swollen, sensitive pussy with a slick sound that makes you both shiver.

He leans back on his heels, eyes fixed between your thighs, watching the thick, messy drip of his cum spill out of you, trailing down your inner thighs and onto your ruined sheets below.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this…all full of my cum.”

The way he says it, quiet, reverent, and almost like a prayer, makes heat pool in your belly all over again.

But you’re too spent to do anything about it. With a groan you roll onto your back, stretching your sore limbs out across the mattress, wincing slightly as your muscles protest the movement.

Luigi chuckles low, sliding a strong arm around your waist, pulling you back toward his chest before you can go far.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs against your hair, still breathless but already possessive again.

You giggle, soft and content. “I’m going to pee…and then go back downstairs.”

Luigi stiffens behind you, his arm tightening around your waist. His eyes grow dark again, simmering with something sharp and dangerous beneath the exhaustion.

“You’re not going back downstairs,” he says, voice low and possessive, curling like smoke against your ear. His fingers slide slowly up and down your bare arm, a gentle contrast to the warning in his tone.

You sigh, half exasperated, half amused, the corners of your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “It’s my house, Luigi.”

But he doesn’t budge. His grip only tightens, his fingers flexing against your waist.

“I don’t care,” he mutters, final and firm. “You’re not going back to the party. You’re not going back to that loser or anyone else. We’ll go back to my place,”

His hand slides down your thigh, slow and claiming, then back up to cup your ass with a possessive squeeze, making your breath hitch.

The room falls quiet, except for the steady thrum of your hearts still racing from everything you just shared.

A wave of heat blooms in your chest, something softer slipping between the cracks of lust and pride.

“Okay,” you murmur at last, voice soft and tired. You tuck your head beneath his chin, letting his warmth swallow you whole.

His scent wraps around you, warm and dizzying–sharp cologne clinging to his skin, the musk of sweat and sex still lingering in the air, all tangled with something darker…possessive, jealous, unmistakably him.

And for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Into him.

But somewhere beneath the exhaustion, the satisfaction, and the lingering heat of his body, confusion stirs. This isn’t how it usually goes. He’s never cared before–not about who you talked to or where you went after.

He’s never kept you close like this, holding you down in your own bed, shielding you from the rest of the world like you’re something fragile…or something his.

Your heart stumbles over itself, torn between irritation and something softer, something dangerous.

Because you’re not supposed to matter to each other. This was supposed to be simple.

But nothing about the way his arms lock around your waist feels simple. Nothing about the way he’s keeping you here, refusing to let you go back to the party, feels casual.

And even though you could fight it–you could tell him to move, tell him this doesn’t mean anything–you don’t.

Instead, you sigh softly against his chest, closing your eyes as the question presses against your ribs like a bruise:

When did this stop being just sex?

⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⟡⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

tag list: @codinghisname @palmersluvr @luigis-lover @rachelsrealities @luigis-stellina @iinfinitelimits @mangionebodycount @luigis-wetdream @notyancionline @mangionesdaisy @soulsmangione

[sweetclassnotes3]

Can you do a story abt Luigi being really sick and needy and crying with how unwell he is and can’t sleep but as soon as you hold him he slowly dozes off and he’s so relaxed being held by you even his uneven breath evens out

I’ve Got You

sick!Luigix GN!Reader, crying, cuddles, comfort, fluff overload

———

Luigi never really gets sick.

He’s one of those people who powers through a cold like it’s a mild inconvenience — still running errands, still trying to make dinner, still texting you “wanna come over? I feel fine” even when he sounds like he’s been gargling sandpaper.

But this time? This time it’s different.

By the time you get to his apartment, he’s a mess. Hoodie on inside out. Sweat dampening his hairline. Blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. And his voice? Practically gone — raspy and shaky and thin.

“Hey,” he croaks, blinking blearily. “You came.”

You drop your bag and rush to him. “Of course I came. You sound like you’re dying.”

He tries to laugh, but it ends in a cough that shakes his whole body. His eyes water, and not just from the coughing.

“…I don’t feel good,” he whispers, voice breaking.

It hits you then — how wrecked he looks. Pale. Clammy. Red around the nose and eyes. The kind of sick that makes even the strongest people feel like kids again.

He leans into you when you hug him. Just buries his face in your chest and clings like it hurts to let go.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles. “My head… my whole body hurts. I kept tossing. I feel so hot but I’m freezing. I just—”

His voice cracks. “—I hate this.”

You guide him gently to the bed. Coax him to lie down, tugging the blankets up over him. He shivers, even under layers.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, brushing the sweaty curls from his forehead. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

He whimpers a little — actually whimpers — and turns his face into your palm like he’s chasing the comfort.

“I missed you,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t wanna be alone.”

“I know, baby. I’m here.”

You climb into bed beside him, sliding close enough that your chest is pressed to his back. Your arms wrap around him, warm and sure.

He lets out a shaky exhale. His whole body relaxes like he’s been holding tension for hours — maybe days — and now that you’re here, he doesn’t have to be strong anymore.

His breath hitches once. Then again.

You realize he’s crying — silent, helpless tears sliding down his cheeks.

You hold him tighter. “Shhh… I’ve got you, Lu. You’re okay.”

“I just—” He swallows thickly. “I hate feeling like this. Like I can’t do anything.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Let me take care of you.”

He nods against your chest. Your hand rubs slow circles into his side, grounding him, soothing him.

And slowly… so slowly… his breathing starts to even out.

The tremble in his shoulders stills. His lashes flutter. That raw, feverish tension melts away as you whisper soft reassurances into his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll stay all night.”

“You’re safe.”

By the time his breath deepens, warm and steady against your collarbone, his face finally at peace — you know he’s asleep.

And this time, really asleep.

Because he’s in your arms.

Exactly where he belongs.

———

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing you feel is heat.

Not the warm-and-fuzzy kind — no, this is full-body, blanket-cocoon, clingy-boyfriend radiator heat. Luigi is completely tangled around you, shirtless now, fever still lingering in his flushed cheeks.

His head is heavy on your chest. His hand is tucked between your thighs like he needs to hold you there. His legs are hooked over yours, making sure you don’t move.

You’re officially the human version of his comfort object.

You glance down at him — and his eyelashes flutter open.

“Hi,” he rasps, voice raw but a little clearer than last night.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, stroking his back. “You feeling any better?”

He gives a tiny nod, then rubs his cheek against your chest. “I slept,” he mumbles. “You make it easier.”

You smile. “You drooled on my shirt.”

“Worth it,” he mutters, sniffling. “Stay forever.”

You kiss the top of his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———

It hits you two days later.

You wake up dizzy, stuffy, and sore, your throat feeling like it’s been sandpapered in your sleep. Your voice cracks when you say his name.

Luigi bolts in like the world’s most concerned boyfriend.

“You’re sick?!” His eyes widen. “No. Nooo. Baby, I infected you. I knew I shouldn’t have breathed on you—”

“Lu,” you groan, curling under the blanket. “You cried in my mouth. I think the damage was already done.”

He winces. “Okay. Fair.”

From then on, it’s his turn to take care of you.

He makes you tea (burns it).

He brings soup (spills it).

He tucks you in (so tight you can’t move).

And then he sits beside you, big brown eyes full of guilt.

“This is all my fault,” he whispers.

You smile weakly, leaning into him. “I forgive you.”

He kisses your temple like it’s fragile glass. “I’m never letting you out of my arms again.”

And true to his word, he doesn’t.

He spends the entire day beside you, feeding you crackers, watching reruns of Chopped, rubbing your back while you nap.

Even sick, you’re his whole world.

And when he whispers “you’re still so pretty, even when you’re dying”, you almost forgive him for sneezing directly into your hair earlier.

[sweetclassnotes3]

I’ll do unspeakable things for a one night only with Luigi.

[sweetclassnotes3]

why is he so attractive? I can’t take it. I love everything about him.

[sweetclassnotes3]

Imagine sleeping on Luigi’s beefy chest?

ya i do genuinely imagine this every night of my life.

i mostly think of the warmth from his chest on your cheek. i think of melting into him. exhaling the day and inhaling him. what he’d smell like. how intoxicating it would be to fall asleep surrounded by him in every way.

i think he’d also take the time to debrief the day with you. quietly. soft little whispers back and forth. giggling at the funny parts. him pressing kisses in your hair. you might turn your head really quick and kiss his chest, right where your cheek had laid. just because he’s too cute and you love him too much. which would make him blush a bit, but keep talking.

and then of course his arm is wrapped around your back, holding you tightly to his chest. one of your hands resting on his chest, thumb massaging his chest.

and then when conversation has slowed and both your eyes have fluttered shut, your breathing syncs, and you drift to sleep.

[sweetclassnotes3]

Loving Luigi would include…?

Oh baby this is gonna be long 🧍🏻‍♀️

– dragging him out of the house when he’s been coding too long

– wearing his Bali shirt just to see the way he looks at you

– late-night talks on his bedroom floor, where he opens up in whispers only meant for you

– arguing over who loves who more and him always ending it with “not possible, bella”

– sneaking kisses in the kitchen when his mom isn’t looking

– him rubbing your back until you fall asleep, even if he’s tired too

– being his calm when the world overstimulates him

– forehead kisses (lots of them)

– the softest “I missed you” like you were gone for years, even if it’s just been a day

– knowing that he loves you with every fiber of who he is gently, fiercely, obsessively

– him playing with your fingers while he listens to you talk, like he needs to be touching you to concentrate

– him whispering “you’re mine” into your hair when you fall asleep on his chest, like a prayer

– knowing every night ends with his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in like he’s scared you’ll slip away

– catching him just staring at you mid-sentence, and when you ask what, he shrugs like “nothing just love you so much it hurts sometimes”

– arguing about something stupid and then him breaking the silence just to say, “still not letting go of you, you know that right?”

– him watching you put on your makeup in the mirror, quiet at first then smirking and going, “you’re really tryna kill me today, huh?”

– soft, sleepy good morning kisses that turn into making out under the sheets because he needs you before the day starts

– every goodbye turning into a 10-minute ritual because he can’t ever just walk away from you

– the way he says “baby” when he’s serious low, breathy, like it’s the only word that feels real in his mouth

– being his peace,his weakness,the one he’d cross every line for

– him always holding your jaw when he kisses you, like he’s trying to memorize your face with his hands

– forehead kisses that linger a second too long, like he’s pouring his whole heart into them

– accidentally waking up at 2AM just to find him already awake, watching you sleep like you’re the only thing in the world that calms his mind

– him muttering “mine” under his breath when someone flirts with you even if it’s just a glance

– him cooking dinner shirtless, sauce on his fingers, tasting it off a spoon and feeding you first

– sharing headphones on long car rides and him skipping the songs he doesn’t want you associating with anyone else but him

– him whispering Italian in your ear when he’s too overwhelmed to explain how he feels in English

– stolen glances from across crowded rooms his eyes locked on you like you’re the only person who matters

– falling asleep tangled up with him on the couch, his hand still resting on your thigh like even in sleep, he can’t let go

– him getting jealous in quiet, subtle ways pulling you closer, kissing your shoulder, making sure everyone sees who you belong to

– long hugs where he buries his face in your neck and doesn’t let go until he feels okay again

– late night conversations where he tells you everything he’s never told anyone else his fears, his dreams, the things he doesn’t even understand about himself

– his fingers tracing circles on your skin absentmindedly when he’s reading, coding, or listening to music

– “don’t look at me like that, baby, I’ll never let you leave” when you tease him

– him gripping your waist while you brush your teeth, not even saying anything, just needing to be close

– protective silence when someone disrespects you he’ll handle it without raising his voice

– sleepy morning sex when his voice is raspy and his eyes are still half-closed but he’s already pulling you under him

– letting you wear his clothes and pretending not to care, even though he secretly thinks you look sexier in his shirts than he ever did

– him remembering every little thing you say even the throwaway comments you forgot you made

– “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t even try to push me away.”

– staying up just to walk you to the bathroom in the dark because he doesn’t want you to go alone

– him whispering “You don’t even know what you do to me” when you’re laughing at something dumb and completely unaware of how beautiful you look

– always touching you in some way hand on your lower back, pinky linked with yours, fingers tangled in your hair

– him lighting up when you enter a room like he’s been waiting for you his whole life

– laying on top of you fully clothed after a long day just to breathe you in

– “I don’t want a break I only want you it’ll always be you.”

NSFW EDITION 🫣

– him fucking you like he’s making a point, like he’s trying to remind your body who it belongs to

– being pinned against the wall the second you walk through the door, keys still in your hand, his voice low in your ear “You wore that out, really? You want me to lose my fucking mind, huh?”

– him eating you out with slow, lazy strokes like he’s got all night, like this is his favorite way to unwind

– grabbing your hips and dragging you back onto him when you try to pull away, voice rough as he mutters, “Nah—don’t run from it, baby, take it.”

– fucking you in front of the mirror just to watch the way your body trembles and your eyes roll back when he hits that spot

– that deep, hoarse groan he lets out when you cum around him tight, wet, throbbing and he’s struggling to hold on

– messy, breathless mornings where you’re half-asleep but he’s already hard, already kissing down your stomach, already parting your thighs like it’s instinct

– him dragging it out on purpose, teasing you until your voice cracks, until you’re clawing at his arms and begging him to finish what he started

– “look at me when I fuck you—c’mon, open your eyes,that’s it that’s my good girl.”

– getting fucked with your legs pushed all the way up, back arching, body shaking while he mutters things like “You don’t understand how much I love you.”

– his voice breaking when you sit on him and start grinding slow his hands gripping your waist like he’s holding on for dear life

– him pulling out just to rub the head against your clit, watching you fall apart as he smirks and goes, “So sensitive, baby. You really missed me that much?”

– soft sex that still ruins you when he kisses you the whole time, tells you how beautiful you are, how warm and tight you feel, how no one else has ever felt this good

– riding him slow and him letting you take control until he snaps grabs your hips, fucks up into you so hard the headboard slams

– “I need you to feel how much I love you every fucking inch.”

– him fucking you so deep and slow it makes you cry, and he doesn’t stop just kisses your tears and whispers, “I got you. Let it out, baby. You’re safe.”

– the filthiest mouth when you least expect it whispering in public how wet you got for him last night, how you were begging for his cum

– cleaning you up after, gentle hands and soft kisses while you’re still trembling

– laying with you after, legs tangled, his fingers still stroking between your thighs because he doesn’t know how to stop touching you

– “I’m never getting tired of this pussy. Ever.”

[sweetclassnotes3]

Hi. Can I get some hc on Luigi being an overprotective boyfriend?

Yesss of course 💗

Not possessive. Just territorial.

• He doesn’t stop her from talking to other guys. But the second one looks at her a little too long? Luigi’s suddenly right behind her, arm slung across her waist, lips brushing her ear.

“Hey, sweetheart. You good?” he’ll say, eyes never leaving the guy.

He never interrupts. Just inserts himself… and makes it very clear: she’s not alone.

• He doesn’t care if she’s wearing something short or tight—he loves it, actually. It’s more like:

“You’re wearin’ that? Shit. You really want me dead today.”

And then he’ll pull her closer. Kiss her neck in front of everyone. Whisper filthy things while smiling like he’s being sweet.

He’s always touching her. Always.

• Sitting down? She’s on his lap.

• Standing in line? His hand’s tucked into the back of her waistband.

• Walking through a party? One hand on her lower back, the other trailing down her arm until their fingers lock. Even in public, he gets handy.

• Fingers sneaking under the hem of her shirt.

• Thumb stroking the skin above her low-rise sweats.

• Pulling her into him while they wait for food, mouthing at her jaw just because he needs her close.

Hickeys. Oh my God. Hickeys.

• Luigi’s addicted to marking her.

• Behind her ear. The underside of her jaw. The top of her inner thigh. Low on her ribs.

• Places only he sees. Places that make her blush when she catches sight of them in the mirror.

• Every time she goes home with one, he’ll text her later:

“You still feel me there, baby?”

“Bet that bruise throbs when you touch it, huh? Don’t forget who it’s from.”

• If someone does see it? Even better.

• He’ll just smirk. “Yeah, that’s mine.”

Filthy, clingy, can’t-keep-his-hands-to-himself Luigi.

• At parties, he won’t let her leave his side.

• “You goin’ to the bathroom? Cool. I’m comin’ too.”

• “Drink? I’ll get it. Stay with me.”

• Even if they’re in a group, he’s behind her—hand on her hip, murmuring in her ear, looking like he’d rather be alone with her upstairs.

• If they get separated? She’ll get a text:

“Where’d you go?”

“Need you. Like now.”

“Don’t make me pull you into the hallway.”

PDA lover.

• He lives for showing people she’s his.

• Forehead kisses. Jawline kisses. Mouth kisses. Neck kisses that turn into biting.

• Will absolutely press her against a wall in public if no one’s looking and mouth at her throat until she whimpers.

• “Let ’em look, baby,” he’ll whisper. “They should know you’re taken.”

• He doesn’t stop kissing her. Ever.

• “You look too good not to kiss right now.”

• “Every time you smile I wanna put my mouth on you, that’s not my fault.”

Texting her like he’s starving.

• When they’re apart?

• He sends her the filthiest messages at 2pm in between lectures like:

“Wish I could crawl under your desk right now and ruin you while you try to stay quiet.”

• Then follows it up with:

“Miss your voice though. Miss your face more.”

“Don’t feel right without you here.”

• If she’s had a bad day?

• He FaceTimes her while laying in bed, hoodie half on, curls messy. Softest tone:

“Talk to me, baby. Just lemme hear you for a while.”

Bonus:

She’s mid-lecture.

Tired. Zoned out. Barely tracking the difference between diffusion and osmosis.

Then her phone buzzes under the desk.

Luigi : pay attention

Luigi : or don’t

Luigi : depends on how fast you wanna lose that GPA

She rolls her eyes and opens the message.

It’s a selfie.

Luigi with his hoodie hood up, tongue out, holding up a protein bar like it’s cursed.

She snorts. Tries not to laugh in front of everyone.

But five minutes later?

Another buzz.

Another photo.

This one?

No hoodie. No shirt. No shorts.

Just Luigi—sweaty, half out of frame, towel slung low on his hips. Low enough to see the curly hair peaking out. One brow cocked. Tongue in his cheek. Veins in his forearm looking criminal.

Luigi : made u look

Luigi : how bad u want me right now? scale 1 to fkn ruin me

Luigi: come get this cock, baby

She hides her face in her sleeve, texting back:

Her: you’re gonna get me kicked out

Luigi : then I’ll pick u up

Luigi : & fuck u in the parking lot

And he would.

And they both know it.

[sweetclassnotes3]

What type of parent will Luigi be?

———

👶 Baby phase: Obsessed & overprotective

- Absolutely unhinged about you giving birth. Paces the room. Threatens the nurse (apologizes after). Almost cries the first time the baby cries.

“She’s perfect. You’re perfect. What the fuck. What the fuck.”

- Has that new-dad instinct where he holds the baby like she’s made of glass—but still won’t let anyone else touch her without grilling them first.

“Wash your hands. I said again, Mom.”

- Sleeps with a hand on your waist and one on the bassinet. Dead asleep? Hears one whimper and is up like a guard dog.

- Fully becomes a baby-wearing dad. Hoodie, chain, baby strapped to his chest while he makes breakfast. She spits up on him and he’s like “She can do whatever she wants, it’s fine.”

- If she struggles with colic, teething, or reflux, he loses his mind trying to soothe her.

He’s like: “She’s suffering. I can’t take this. Fix her. I will sell my soul.”

- He cries with her sometimes. You find them both passed out on the couch, her little fingers tangled in his chain.

👧 Toddler years: Chaos dad with a soft spot

- He tries to set rules but folds instantly when she looks up at him with those big eyes.

“One more cookie?—Lu, she already had two.”

“…One more. Half. Half a cookie.”

- Will wear whatever she tells him to. Tiaras. Butterfly clips. Sparkly nail polish. His favorite line?

“Real men wear pink, baby. You see Daddy’s nails?”

- Can and will fight a daycare worker if he thinks someone was rude to her.

“Don’t raise your voice. That’s my daughter. She's two. Don’t make me show you what I learned at two.”

- Doesn’t know how to braid but tries so hard. He watches YouTube tutorials and mutters “fuck” under his breath while brushing through tangles.

- Eventually figures out how to do a tiny ponytail and acts like he invented hair.

- Teaches her how to swear in Italian. Only in Italian. “If she’s gonna cuss, she’s gonna sound cultured.”

🧒 School-age years: Unhinged PTA dad

- Shows up to every event. Talent show? Front row. Soccer game? Screaming like it’s the Super Bowl.

“That’s my girl! You see her footwork?? Ref! REF!”

- Way too invested in her friendships.

“I don’t like that Ava girl. She seems fake. Don’t give her your snacks again.”

- Does all the voices during bedtime stories. Fully commits.

“Once upon a—hold on—baby, this dragon voice isn’t scary enough, gimme a sec—”

- If she’s ever bullied? Luigi’s got no chill. Pulls the principal aside like,

“You better handle it. Or I will.”

- Lets her fall asleep on his chest every weekend during movie night, then acts mad about being stuck but never moves. You catch him smiling at her every time.

- Super aware of how important emotional validation is. He didn’t grow up with much of that, and he swore he’d do better.

“You’re allowed to cry, honey. Crying means you’re feeling. Feeling means you’re alive.”

- Has deep talks with her in the car. Plays her his favorite songs and explains what the lyrics mean.

“This one makes Daddy think of Mommy. Listen to the words, okay?”

- Tells her “I love you” every day, every phone call, every drop-off. Never lets her question it.

👩 Teenage years: Scary but soft

“No dating ‘til you’re thirty. Or until I’m dead. Whichever comes first.”

- Very scary to any boys/girls who show up at the door, but also lowkey cries when she goes to prom.

- Checks her location constantly. Sends her memes at midnight. Still calls her "baby girl" in front of her friends.

- She says “I hate you!” once and it shatters him for 2.5 hours, then he shakes it off and hugs her anyway.

“I love you even when you’re mad at me. Deal with it.”

- Proudest dad in the world at every milestone. Graduation? He sobs. Moving out? He helps her carry her boxes while wiping his face on his sleeve.

Bonus drabble:

It’s past midnight when she starts crying.

Not screaming. Just that soft, hiccupy little sound you know means she’s tired, restless, fighting sleep like she’s got something to prove.

You groan from the bed—bone-tired—but before you can even sit up, Luigi’s already out of the sheets.

“I got her,” he murmurs, voice still low and thick with sleep. “Stay in bed, baby.”

You watch him pad across the nursery barefoot, shirtless, hair messy. His silhouette in the nightlight makes your chest ache.

He leans over the crib and scoops her up like she’s nothing—like she’s weightless.

“Hey, hey,” he coos, pressing her against his shoulder. “What’s the matter, huh? You miss Daddy?”

She whines into his neck. He sways instinctively, hand smoothing up and down her back in slow, practiced strokes.

You expect him to hum. He always does.

But tonight, he sings.

Soft and quiet, like he’s not even sure he means to do it.

A Sinatra song, of course—his voice low and gruff in a way that barely sounds like singing at all:

🎵 “Fly me to the moon… Let me play among the stars…” 🎵

You blink hard. Lie very still. Try not to cry like a sap.

Luigi whispers the next part into her hair, still swaying slow:

🎵 “In other words, baby… kiss me.” 🎵

His palm rubs soothing circles on her back.

She’s stopped fussing completely now. Her tiny fist is curled in the chain around his neck, and her cheek is smushed against his shoulder.

He stays like that even after she’s asleep—just rocking, kissing her forehead.

You hear him whisper, “Daddy’s got you. Always.”

And even though you’re half-asleep, tears slip down your cheeks.

Because you knew he’d be a good dad.

But this?

This is something else entirely.

[sweetclassnotes3]

I agree. A screenshot from Instagram

[sweetclassnotes3]

Look what I came across on Instagram. I took a screenshot of it. 😂

[sweetclassnotes3]

Um Luigi with a pillow princess?? He’d love doing all the work — holding your thighs open, whispering “you don’t gotta do anything, baby… just feel good for me.” He eats you out like a meal, then slides in slow, kissing you while you whimper his name when you come 🫠

[sweetclassnotes3]

Clingy on Campus

(Velcro Mangione part 2)

———

Luigi has two majors:

1. Engineering.

2. You.

No, seriously. He doesn’t even have a class in Humanities Hall but somehow he’s always sitting on the bench outside it, playing with the strap of your tote bag like he owns it. He’s early, always early, like some lovesick golden retriever waiting to walk you to your next class.

You keep telling him, “Babe, you don’t have to meet me between every lecture,”

and he keeps saying, “What if someone else does, huh? You want that? Some loser in Intro to Psych offering to carry your bag? I’ll transfer.”

You thought he was joking about that last part. Until he actually opened the transfer application page.

He carries your tote bag like it’s sacred. Doesn’t matter that it’s full of highlighters, lip balm, a tattered copy of The Bell Jar, and a stress banana that’s gone slightly brown. He slings it over his shoulder with his big veiny hand gripping the strap like it’s the last thread connecting him to his purpose.

“I just like feeling useful,” he says, blushing, when you tease him.

(Translation: I just like feeling needed by you.)

And don’t even think about scheduling a night class.

You did it once—just one. Art History II on Thursdays from 6–9 p.m. And Luigi acted like you were being deployed.

“You’re gonna walk across campus alone at night? In the dark? While I’m in Calc II suffering without you?”

“I’m not walking alone,” you replied. “There are streetlights.”

He looked offended. “Streetlights can’t fight, babe.”

The next week, he walked you to class and waited the entire three hours on the bench outside. Had the tote bag on his lap. Brought snacks. Texted you memes every 20 minutes.

He’s dramatic. But he’s yours.

Sometimes when you study in the library, he wedges himself beside you and leans his head on your shoulder like a sleepy cat. He doesn’t even try to get work done. He just watches you highlight and mouth vocabulary words and breathe.

“You know I’m obsessed with you, right?” he says, muffled into your sleeve.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Velcro Mangione. I know.”

But secretly?

You never want him to unstick.