xo, cherry.

hi, i’m cherry 🍒

20 • nursing student • permanently tired

usually juggling school, work, and whatever fic idea refuses to leave my brain. i write when i can, ramble when i shouldn’t, and definitely overshare sometimes (oops). dms are always open — come say hi 🤍

✨ hogwarts house: hufflepuff

⭐️ zodiac sign: cancer

🎧 current music obsession: sabrina carpenter

📚 comfort book / show: the great gatsby / bluey

🐾 cats or dogs?: cats

🌙 night owl or early bird?: night owl

☕️ coffee or energy drinks?: energy drinks… i HATE coffee unfortunately

🍬 sweet or savory?: sweet

———

You lay sprawled across the bed, the room dim with only the bedside lamp on. After another long day of tension with Luigi, you needed release. The fights had left you aching and frustrated, so you reached for the drawer. Your favorite dildo and vibrator sat waiting. You slicked the toy generously, turned the vibrator on low, and pressed it against your clit as you eased the dildo inside yourself with a soft moan.

The rhythm built slowly. You closed your eyes, hips rocking to meet each thrust, letting the dual sensations pull you under. The vibrator buzzed steadily while you pumped the dildo deeper, chasing the pleasure you had not felt from your husband in weeks.

The bedroom door opened without warning.

Luigi stood in the doorway, still in his jacket, keys in hand. His eyes locked on you — legs spread wide, toys buried between them, your hand frozen mid-thrust. For a second, silence hung thick in the air.

Then his expression twisted. Jaw tight, eyes dark with a mix of shock and raw anger.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, voice low and sharp.

You scrambled to sit up, but it was too late. The dildo slipped out as you fumbled to turn off the vibrator. Heat flooded your face. “Luigi—I didn’t think you’d be home—”

He stepped inside and shut the door hard behind him. “You didn’t think I’d be home? So this is what you do when I’m gone? You fuck yourself with plastic instead of coming to me?”

His gaze raked over your naked body, lingering on the glistening toys on the sheets. He looked furious, chest rising and falling faster. “We’ve barely touched each other in weeks because of all the bullshit between us, and this is your solution? Hiding in our bed with those things?”

You pulled the sheet over your lap, but he crossed the room in three strides and yanked it back down. His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You miss this?” he growled, nodding toward the dildo. “You need to get fucked so bad that you’ll settle for fake cock instead of your husband’s?”

“Luigi—”

“No.” He pushed you back against the pillows, looming over you. His free hand trailed roughly down your stomach and between your legs, fingers sliding through your wetness. “This pussy is mine. Not some toy’s. Mine.”

He snatched the dildo off the bed and tossed it aside with clear disgust. The vibrator followed. Then he was on you, mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. His fingers plunged inside you without warning, two thick digits stretching you far better than the toy had.

“You feel that?” he muttered against your lips. “This is what you should be using. Not that shit. Every time you get wet, every time you need to cum, you come to me. Understand?”

You moaned into his mouth as he curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made your thighs shake. He was angry, possessive, but the hunger in his touch was undeniable. He unzipped his pants with his other hand, freeing his hard cock.

“Luigi, wait—”

“I’m done waiting,” he said, lining himself up. In one thrust he buried himself deep, groaning at how soaked you were. “Fuck… this is what you need. Me. Not toys.”

He fucked you hard, hips snapping with frustrated need. Each thrust punctuated his words. “No more hiding. No more fighting and then sneaking off to cum alone. If you want dick, you take mine.”

Your nails dug into his back as pleasure ripped through you. The anger mixed with desperation made everything sharper, hotter. Luigi buried his face in your neck, biting down as he drove deeper.

“You’re my wife,” he rasped. “Next time you need this, you beg me. Got it?”

You nodded frantically, legs wrapping around him. “Yes—fuck, yes.”

He growled in satisfaction and fucked you harder, reclaiming every inch the toys had touched. The rough patch was still there, but in this moment, the fire between you burned brighter than it had in months.

———

You never expected Luigi Mangione to ask you out.

He was the cute, quiet guy from your literature class — the one who always sat two rows behind you, who blushed when the professor called on him, and who somehow made messy hair and oversized hoodies look unfairly good. So when he nervously approached you after class and asked if you wanted to grab coffee sometime, you said yes before he could even finish the sentence.

The first date was painfully adorable.

Luigi showed up at the campus café wearing a dark button-up that looked brand new, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The second he saw you walking toward him, his cheeks flushed a deep pink.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little too quiet. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You look… really pretty. I mean — nice. You look nice.”

You smiled. “Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself.”

He pulled your chair out for you, nearly knocking over the little vase of flowers on the table in the process. His face went even redder. Throughout the date he kept fidgeting with his coffee cup, stealing shy glances at you, and stumbling over his words whenever he tried to compliment you.

“I’ve kind of… had a crush on you since the first week of class,” he admitted halfway through, ears burning. “I kept trying to work up the courage to talk to you. I probably sounded like an idiot every time I answered questions just so you’d notice me.”

It was endearing. He asked about your major, your favorite books, even remembered the small detail you’d mentioned once about liking iced vanilla lattes. He walked you back to your dorm afterward and lingered at the door like he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

“I had a really good time,” he said softly, cheeks still pink. “Can we do this again?”

You said yes.

By the third date, the tension between you two had grown unbearable.

This time you invited him back to your apartment after dinner. The second the door closed behind you, something shifted.

Luigi kissed you first — hesitant at the start, just like on your second date when he’d finally worked up the nerve. But the moment you made a small needy sound against his mouth, the shyness melted off him like it had never existed.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide. The blush was still there, faint across his cheeks, but his voice came out low and steady.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t want him to stop.

What followed was nothing like the sweet, blushing boy from the café.

Luigi walked you backward until your legs hit the bed. He stripped you slowly, reverently, but with sure hands that knew exactly what they were doing. When you reached for his shirt he caught your wrists gently and pinned them above your head with one hand.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your neck, voice confident and rough. “Been thinking about this for months. Let me take care of you first.”

He kissed down your body like he was memorizing every inch. When he reached your thighs he looked up at you — that same pretty face, flushed and focused — before spreading your legs and putting his mouth on you. He was relentless. Confident. The shy stutters from dinner were gone, replaced by the wet sounds of his tongue and low groans that vibrated through you.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he said, voice husky.

By the time he finally pushed into you, you were shaking. He filled you slowly at first, jaw clenched, eyes locked on your face like he wanted to watch every reaction. Then his hips snapped forward harder, deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to pull you closer.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss you messily. “So fucking tight around me.”

He fucked you like he’d been holding back for weeks. Confident strokes, filthy whispers in your ear, one hand tangled in your hair while the other pinned your hip to the bed. Every time you moaned his name he lost a little more control, hips moving faster, voice dropping lower.

“Look at me,” he ordered softly when you closed your eyes. “Want to see you when you come.”

You shattered around him moments later, crying out as pleasure crashed through you. Luigi followed right after, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan, hips stuttering as he finished inside you.

Afterward, he was sweet again. He pulled you against his chest, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, cheeks flushed once more as he caught his breath.

“Was that… okay?” he asked, suddenly shy again.

You laughed softly and kissed his jaw. “Luigi… that was way more than okay.”

He smiled, hiding his face against your hair, the confident lover from minutes ago replaced once again by the blushing college boy who still couldn’t believe he had you in his arms.

You couldn’t wait to see both sides of him again.

———

Luigi barely makes it through the front door before you know something is wrong.

His breathing is uneven. His shoulders are tight enough to snap. He drops his keys on the counter and presses the heel of his hand against his mouth like he’s trying to physically hold himself together.

“Lu?” you ask softly.

“I’m okay,” he says too quickly.

He isn’t.

You walk over carefully, like approaching a wounded animal, and his eyes flick toward you for half a second before dropping to the floor again.

That’s when you notice his hands shaking.

“Oh, baby.”

The words alone seem to crack something open inside him.

He exhales sharply and suddenly he can’t stop. Breath after breath keeps catching in his throat, chest rising too fast, panic flooding through him before he can hide it.

“I can’t —” he chokes out. “I can’t fucking calm down.”

You take his face gently in your hands.

“Hey. Look at me.”

His eyes are glassy now. Frantic.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “You’re home. Nothing bad is happening right now.”

He tries to breathe but another shaky gasp cuts through him. Embarrassment flashes across his face immediately after.

“Sorry.”

“No apologizing.”

You guide him toward the couch, sitting first so you can pull him against you. Luigi practically folds into your chest the second your arms wrap around him, exhausted by the effort of pretending he was okay all day.

Your hand moves slowly through his curls.

“In through your nose,” you murmur. “Slowly.”

He follows it badly at first. Uneven. Stuttering.

But you keep counting softly for him anyway.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Eventually his death grip on your hoodie loosens.

His breathing slows enough that he can finally speak without sounding like he’s drowning.

“It was just a really bad day,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

“I thought I could handle it.”

You press a kiss against his temple.

“You don’t have to handle everything alone.”

That nearly breaks him again.

He hides his face against your neck, arms tightening around your waist while you hold him through the last trembling aftershocks of panic.

After a long while, he finally whispers, “Thank you.”

You smile softly into his hair.

“Always.”

———

Luigi doesn’t realize he lost you until the apartment starts sounding hollow.

Not quiet. Hollow.

Like every room had been stripped down to drywall and dust the second you walked out with your overnight bag clutched in your trembling hand.

At first, he tells himself you just need space.

A day.

Maybe two.

But then your side of the bathroom stays untouched. Your favorite mug disappears from the drying rack. The little socks you used to leave vanish from the living room floor.

And suddenly he’s standing in the kitchen at two in the morning, staring at the empty space beside the sink like it personally betrayed him.

Because you had trusted him.

That was the worst part.

You had looked at him with this terrifying kind of softness — as if loving him had never been a question to you. Like you would’ve followed him through every ugly thing if he’d only let you.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he lied.

Not huge lies at first. Small ones. The dangerous kind. The kind that start because you’re afraid of disappointing someone you love.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Until eventually every sentence out of his mouth became another brick in the wall between you.

And he watched it happen.

Watched your face fall every time he pulled away from your touch. Watched you stop asking questions because every answer sounded rehearsed. Watched himself become colder and colder because admitting the truth felt more terrifying than losing you.

Which was funny now, considering.

Because he lost you anyway.

Luigi sits at the edge of his bed with his guitar in his lap, elbows braced against his knees. The room is dark except for the orange glow of the streetlamp outside.

His fingers hover over the strings.

He hasn’t slept.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the look on your face the night you left.

Not angry.

That would’ve been easier.

No, you looked heartbroken. Quietly heartbroken. Like something inside you had finally given up fighting for him.

“You don’t let me love you anymore,” you whispered.

Christ.

He thinks that sentence might haunt him forever.

The guitar string hums under his fingertips.

He swallows hard.

“If I could do it again…” he murmurs to the empty room, voice cracking. “I’d tell you everything.”

But he can’t.

Because time keeps moving in this cruel, stubborn way.

And now all he has left are memories that attack him at random moments — the shape of your body curled against his chest during thunderstorms, your sleepy voice asking him to come back to bed, the way you used to reach for his hand without thinking.

He presses the heel of his palm against his eyes.

He had loved you.

God, he loved you.

Enough to imagine forever with you.

Enough to accidentally ruin it trying to protect himself from being truly seen.

Outside, rain taps softly against the windows.

Luigi lowers his head, fingers finally brushing the strings in a trembling chord.

It sounds unfinished.

Broken.

Like him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, though you’re nowhere near him to hear it. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Luigi looked at you like no one else existed in the room. His dark eyes were glassy, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

“You,” he started, squeezing your hands. “You’ve been my best friend, my safe place, and the love of my life since the day I realized I couldn’t picture my future without you in it. I promise to choose you every single day. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days. I promise to protect our peace, to make you laugh when life gets heavy, and to always come home to you. You make me better. You make everything better. I vow to love you fiercely, gently, and completely for the rest of our lives.”

A soft sob escaped you as you smiled through your tears.

When it was your turn, you took a shaky breath.

“Luigi… loving you has been the easiest and most natural thing I’ve ever done. You see me. Truly see me. Even when I try to hide. You make me feel safe and cherished and wanted. I vow to stand by you through every season. To support your dreams, to hold you when things get tough, and to keep choosing us even when it’s not easy. You are my home. Today, tomorrow, and every day after. I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”

The officiant smiled as you both slid the rings onto each other’s fingers. When he finally pronounced you husband and wife, Luigi pulled you in for a deep, emotional kiss as cheers erupted around you.

Later at the reception, under strings of lights and blooming flowers, the toasts began.

Your best friend went first, raising her glass with a grin. “To the two people who somehow made everyone around them believe in soulmates. Watching you two fall in love was like watching the best slow-burn movie ever. You balance each other perfectly. Never stop choosing each other the way you do.”

Luigi’s older sister spoke next, her voice warm. “I’ve never seen my brother look at anyone the way he looks at you. You bring out the softest, best version of him. Thank you for loving him so completely. Welcome to the family… officially.”

Your father stood up, clearing his throat. “I always worried about who would be good enough for my daughter. Then Luigi came along. He respects you. He adores you. And he looks at you like you hung the moon. That’s all a father could ever ask for.”

Finally, Luigi’s father surprised everyone by standing. He looked between the two of you, his expression softer than usual. “It took me longer than it should have to see it… but you two are right for each other. Luigi, you’ve never been happier than you are with her. Thank you for showing our family what real love looks like.”

Luigi reached over and laced his fingers with yours under the table, giving them a gentle squeeze.

As the night went on, he pulled you onto the dance floor for a slow song, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his forehead against yours.

“Mrs. Mangione,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

You tilted your head up to kiss him softly. “I’ve always been yours. Today just makes it official.”

———

The nursery smelled like fresh linen and baby powder. You stood in the doorway, watching Luigi gently rock your newborn daughter in his arms. She was only two weeks old, tiny and perfect, with a shock of dark hair just like her father’s. Your heart swelled every time you saw them together, but it was laced with the familiar ache of what this moment should have been.

Your marriage to Luigi had never been easy where his family was concerned. From the beginning, his mother had made her disapproval crystal clear. You were not from their world. Not the right background. Not the right kind of woman for her son. His father followed her lead with cold politeness and thinly veiled comments about how Luigi could have done better. Family dinners were minefields. Holidays were endurance tests. You had learned to smile through the jabs, to hold Luigi’s hand a little tighter under the table, but it wore on you.

When the pregnancy test came back positive, Luigi made a decision.

“We’re not telling them,” he said that night, kneeling in front of you with his hands on your still-flat stomach. “Not until the baby is here. I won’t let them stress you out. I won’t let their bullshit risk you or our child.”

You had agreed. The peace was worth it. For nine months, you kept the secret. Only your closest friends knew. Luigi’s sisters had been gently shut out with vague excuses. The nursery was prepared in quiet joy. The baby’s arrival was celebrated in your hospital room, just the two of you and soft cries.

Now she was here. Sofia. Your perfect little girl.

A knock sounded at the front door.

You were in the bedroom folding tiny onesies when you heard it. Luigi called out from the living room, “I’ll get it. Probably my sisters. They said they might stop by with some things.”

You smiled to yourself. His sisters had been kind, at least. Supportive from a distance. You trusted him to handle it.

Luigi shifted Sofia higher against his shoulder, her little face nestled into his neck as he walked to the door. He was still in sweatpants and one of your favorite old t-shirts, hair messy from sleepless nights. He opened the door with a tired but content smile.

That smile froze.

His mother stood on the threshold, flanked by his father. Both of them dressed sharply, as if they had come for a formal visit rather than a casual drop-in. His mother’s eyes widened as they landed on the baby in his arms.

“Luigi?” Her voice was sharp with shock. “What… what is this?”

His father stared, mouth slightly open.

Luigi’s grip on Sofia tightened instinctively. “Mom. Dad. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Clearly,” his mother said, stepping forward without invitation. Her gaze raked over the baby, then flicked past him into the apartment, searching for you. “Whose child is that?”

“Mine,” Luigi said simply. “Ours.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You had stepped into the hallway at the sound of her voice, heart already sinking. You stayed back, out of sight for now, one hand resting protectively over your still-tender stomach.

His mother’s face twisted. “You hid this from us? Your own parents? You had a child and didn’t think we deserved to know?”

“We made that choice,” Luigi replied, voice low but steady. “After everything you’ve said about my wife over the years, I wasn’t going to let you near her while she was pregnant. I wasn’t going to risk the stress.”

His father finally spoke. “This is ridiculous, Luigi. We’re family.”

“Are you?” Luigi’s tone hardened. Sofia stirred against him, letting out a small whimper. He rubbed her back soothingly, swaying gently the way he had learned in the hospital. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve done nothing but make my wife feel unwelcome since the day I brought her home. You’ve criticized her. Talked down to her. Made it clear she wasn’t good enough. I won’t let that touch my daughter.”

His mother’s eyes flashed with anger and something like hurt. “We only wanted what was best for you.”

“What was best for me was the woman I love,” he said. “The woman who gave me this little girl. And if you can’t accept her, if you can’t treat my wife with basic respect, then you don’t get to be part of this.”

You finally stepped forward, coming to stand beside Luigi. Your body still ached from labor, but you lifted your chin. “Hello.”

His mother looked at you like you were an intruder in her son’s life. “So this is how you repay us? By turning our son against us?”

“I didn’t turn him against anyone,” you said quietly. “He made his own choice. To protect his family.”

Luigi shifted Sofia so she was more visible, her tiny fist curled against his chest. “This is your granddaughter. Her name is Sofia. But you don’t get to hold her today. Not until you can look at my wife and show her the respect she deserves.”

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, it looked like she might argue, might unleash the cutting words she was so good at. But something in Luigi’s expression stopped her. The quiet, unyielding protectiveness. The way he held his daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“We’ll talk about this later,” his father said stiffly.

“No,” Luigi replied. “We won’t. Not until things change.”

He closed the door slowly but firmly.

The apartment fell quiet again. Sofia fussed softly, and Luigi pressed a kiss to the top of her head, murmuring gentle reassurances. Then he turned to you, eyes soft with worry and love.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping close so you could rest your head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of your husband and your baby. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

He wrapped his free arm around you, holding both of you close. “I meant every word. They don’t get to hurt you anymore. Not you. Not her.”

Outside, you could hear his mother’s muffled voice growing fainter as they walked away. Inside, your little family stood together, fragile but whole.

The road ahead with his parents would not be easy. Old wounds ran deep, and pride on both sides would make healing slow. But as Luigi held you and your daughter, you knew he had already chosen. Again and again, he would choose you.

And for now, that was enough.

———

The moment the two pink lines appeared, Luigi’s whole face lit up like you’d never seen before. He dropped to his knees right there in the bathroom, pressing frantic kisses all over your stomach.

“Fuck, baby… I did that?” His voice was already husky. “I got you pregnant.”

He didn’t even make it to the bed. He bent you over the bathroom counter, yanked your panties down, and fucked you deep and slow while whispering against your ear, “I love that I knocked you up. Love that my cum did this to you. You’re carrying my baby… fuck, you’re gonna look so good all round and full of me.”

That was just the beginning.

Your belly swelled fast. By week twelve it already looked like six months. Your tits grew heavy and swollen, nipples dark and sensitive. Luigi couldn’t keep his hands off you. Every morning he’d wake up hard, palming your growing bump like it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

One night he had you on all fours, thrusting slow and deep while his hands worshipped your belly.

“Look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with awe. “So fucking big already. My cock did this. My big dick put a baby in you… and it’s growing so fast. God, I’m obsessed with you.”

Then came the doctor’s appointment.

The ultrasound tech moved the wand over your belly and froze. “Well… there’s three heartbeats.”

You both went silent. Luigi’s hand tightened around yours.

“Triplets?” he breathed.

The tech nodded.

Luigi didn’t say anything until you were back in the car. Then he pulled you into his lap in the driver’s seat, kissing you filthy and desperate, hands sliding under your shirt to squeeze your swollen tits.

“Three,” he growled against your mouth. “I put three fucking babies in you. My dick knocked you up with triplets.” He was rock hard underneath you, grinding up slowly. “You’re gonna get so fucking huge for me. I can’t wait.”

From that day on, Luigi became feral.

He was constantly touching you. If you tried to take off your own jacket, he’d bat your hands away and do it himself, then kiss your neck while his palms rubbed slow circles over your rapidly expanding belly. “Let me, baby. This is my body now. Carrying my three babies.”

Shower time turned into long, slippery worship sessions. He soaped your heavy tits with both hands, thumbs circling your sensitive nipples until you were whimpering. Then he’d drop to his knees, water cascading over his curls, and bury his face between your thighs, licking and sucking at your pussy like a man starved.

“Best fucking pussy I’ve ever had,” he’d groan, voice vibrating against your swollen clit. “And it’s all mine while you grow my kids.”

Your back started hurting as your belly stretched bigger and bigger. One evening you were standing in the kitchen, hands pressed to your lower back, whining in discomfort. Luigi was behind you instantly.

“C’mere,” he murmured. He wrapped his arms around you, then slid his big hands under your massive belly and gently lifted.

The relief was instant. The pressure on your spine vanished as he supported the heavy weight of your triplets. You moaned softly, melting back against his chest.

“Fuck, feel that?” he whispered hotly in your ear, voice dark. “So heavy. So full of me.” His cock was rock hard against your ass. “I love how big you are. Look at this belly… carrying three of my babies. You’re a fucking goddess.”

He kept holding your belly like that, grinding slowly against you until you were soaked and begging. He fucked you right there against the kitchen counter, one hand still supporting your bump, the other rolling your sensitive nipple. Every thrust was deep and possessive.

“Gonna keep you like this,” he panted. “Filled with my cum, belly huge, tits leaking. You’re never gonna be empty again if I can help it.”

As the weeks passed your belly became enormous, stretched tight and round, hanging low with the weight of three babies. Your breasts were massive, swollen, and tender. Luigi couldn’t stop talking about it.

Every time he saw you he’d groan, “Jesus Christ, baby… look at you. So fucking big. My babies did that.” He’d drop down and kiss your belly all over, murmuring praises against the skin. Then he’d suck on your tits until you were shaking, telling you how perfect they looked, how much he loved how full and heavy they were.

He was insatiable. He’d wake you up in the middle of the night just to slide inside you, slow and lazy, one hand rubbing your bump while he whispered, “I did this to you. I fucked you so good you’re carrying three. God, I love you like this.”

And you let him worship every inch, because the way he looked at you — like you were the sexiest, most powerful thing on the planet — made every ache worth it.