#ff luigi

You don’t fully process it until you’re walking out of the lecture hall, Luigi at your side, his stride just a little too purposeful; He’s still simmering.

You press your lips together and bite your tongue, hiding your amusement as you glance up at him. His jaw is tight, tongue pressing into his cheek like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something, but it slips out anyway.

“That guy is so full of shit.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Luigi.”

“No. Seriously,” he mutters, shaking his head. “The way he was talking, it’s like he just discovered how smart you are.” He scoffs. “Like he’s some kind of genius for pointing out something that’s fucking blatant.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So… what? You wanted him to downplay it?” you ask. Luigi turns to you, incredulous. “No, I wanted him to not act like he had some exclusive insight into your talent—like he just, gets you, or something—when really, he was just inflating his own ego.” Luigi’s voice dips lower, rougher. “Probably trying to impress you.”

Ah. There it is. You fold your arms, biting back a smile. “So you are jealous.”

Luigi scoffs, looking away. “I’m—” He exhales sharply, then grumbles, “It’s not jealousy.”

You give him a knowing look. He glares for half a second before rubbing the side of his face and muttering, “Fine. Maybe that plays a part.”

You smirk, leaning in slightly. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.” You pause, tilting your head. “But now I’m starting to wonder… you were paying a lot of attention to him. Should I be jealous?” you tease.

Luigi glares at you for half a second before rubbing his face. Then, with perfect deadpan delivery, he mutters, “Can’t believe you let a man who dresses like a divorced economics professor flirt with you in front of an audience.”

You blink, caught completely off guard, before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my god.” You press a hand to your mouth. “Luigi.”

“What?” He shrugs. “The man has salt-and-pepper hair but the energy of an undergrad trying too hard in a philosophy debate. It’s offensive.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “You’re so petty.”

“Only when it’s deserved.” He smirks, but his eyes soften just a little as he looks at you. “And only when it involves you.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “Hot.”

Luigi’s head snaps toward you again, eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s trying to gauge if you’re messing with him. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You step closer, tilting your head. “The whole passive aggressive, I’m-smarter-than-you thing?” You start fanning yourself for dramatic effect. Luigi lets out a breathy chuckle. “Didn’t do it to be hot.”

“Still was.”

His fingers flex at his sides, like he’s debating whether to pull you in right here, right now. His voice drops lower, edged with possession. “You’re mine, you know. Even if people don’t know it.”

A shiver runs through you. Your amusement melts into something warmer, heavier. “I know.”

He studies you for a second before shaking his head. “Also, you being smart is common knowledge. His spectacle was nothing but a reminder of your brilliance and a display of his ignorance.”

You laugh, looping your arm through his. “Noted.”

By the time you get to his dorm, he’s settled. Mostly. You stretch out on his bed, lazily watching as he tosses his bag onto the chair. Then—

“I still don’t like him.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

He huffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “And you…” He leans in, voice dropping. “…are mine.”

Your stomach flips. His voice—low, assured, certain—does something to you.

“You did kill that presentation, though,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. “So damn smart.”

“You give me too much credit.”

He shakes his head, unwavering. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’ll make sure you get what you deserve until the day I die.” He purrs. Your heart stumbles.

Then—

“…Still don’t like Neil.”

You groan, shoving him lightly as he laughs, low and satisfied. “You don’t have to like him,” you tease, “you just have to like me.”

word count: 1.6k

"Now, what the— How the fuck—"

Luigi twists and turns, his back facing the mirror as he tries to coat the last unpainted stretch of his skin in blue. He groans loudly in the living room, contorting his body in an attempt to get the brush to the middle of his back.

"Fuck," he mutters, struggling.

You roll backward in your desk chair, out of your room and into the common area.

"You good?" you ask, startling him.

"Shit—"

"Oh— Sorry, I thought you knew I was here."

Luigi exhales, catching his breath. "I thought you were already at the rally with Cassy. You're good."

"No, I stayed back to study. Sorry, Lu."

"You're good, you're good." He cracks a light smile.

Luigi is your roommate, along with two others. Your best friend, Cassy, is Luigi's best friend's sister. Before Penn, you and Cassy were dead set on rooming together. Her brother, Sam, mentioned he was looking into an apartment-style dorm with his best friend, Luigi, and now the four of you rent it together. Cassy and Sam are siblings, you and Luigi are their best friends. You and Luigi are friends and roommates to each other, but nothing more.

"You need help, though? I just heard you huffing and puffing."

Luigi chuckles, rolling his eyes. "Huffing and puffing, damn." He hesitates. "To be honest, yeah. This paint..." His words trail off into a sigh, admitting defeat.

"School spirit, am I right?" you say sarcastically, getting up and walking over.

Luigi laughs. "Yeah, yeah."

"Everything good?" you ask, noticing his short, semi-awkward answers.

"..Yeah, it's just all this twisting and turning..." He gestures to his lower back. "Y'know, spondy."

"Right, right." You sigh before holding out a hand. "Brush?"

He hands it over, and you step onto the towel he laid out. "You're such a nerd."

"For cleaning precautions? Do you want to scrape blue paint out of tile grout?"

You laugh. "Absolutely not."

"Exactly."

You shake your head, about to start painting, but then you pause. Up close, his back is broader than you realized, his physique stronger.

"Everything alright?" Luigi asks, noticing.

"Yeah... yeah," you chuckle awkwardly, brushing it off. Of course you've always known Luigi was attractive—anyone with eyes does—but you've always shrugged it off. No point in stirring up drama between roommates or complicating things with your best friends. Besides, you're all swamped with school 90% of the time anyway.

"Wait, wait. Before I get my hands dirty, do you want Advil for your spondy?" you ask.

Luigi chuckles.

"What?" you ask. "Did I say it wrong? Not cool enough for the medical slang?"

"No, no. It was just cute, the way you said it. I've never heard you say it before." He moves on quickly. "Uhh, yeah, actually. Thanks. I would get it, but—" He gestures to his feet.

"You fucking painted the bottom of your feet?" you ask.

"Well, no... but close enough. I'm scared to leave my towel island."

You giggle, shaking your head as you search through the medicine cabinet. "Holy shit, didn't know you're a druggie, Luigi."

He laughs. "Yeah, my back is a real addict."

"If any of these go missing, I definitely didn't sell them for noodle money."

"Honestly, a couple of those pills could probably get you about forty packs of instant noodles."

"I want the good stuff, y'know, Huang's Noodle House?" You close your eyes dramatically at the thought of your favourite spot.

"I didn't know you like Huang's." Luigi sounds genuinely interested. "We should go."

"Yeah, and Cassy and Sam—"

"Ehh, Sam doesn't really like noodles."

"Oh. Then Cassy... I'm not sure if she does, actually."

Luigi hums in thought. "We could just go, then." His voice is casual, but something about it lingers.

You pause, fingers wrapped around the Advil bottle. Then, shaking it lightly, you ask, "Is that an invitation?"

Luigi glances over his shoulder, smirking. "Only if you wanna go. Otherwise, you heard nothing."

You let out a small laugh, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at the idea of going to Huang's alone with him. This is just food. Just noodles. Just roommates grabbing a bite.

"Why not?.." you say, tossing the bottle toward him. He catches it in one hand, shakes two pills out, and dry swallows them. "...If you're paying." you add. Luigi huffs a laugh. "Wow. First, you steal my drugs, now my money?"

"Roommate tax." You tap the paintbrush against your palm. "Alright, turn."

He shifts carefully, and you notice how aware he is of his movements. Cassy told you about his back, and while he never complains much, you've caught him stretching, adjusting his posture, rolling his shoulders when he thinks no one's looking.

Your eyes flicker down his back as you dip the brush into the blue paint. His broad shoulders. The way his muscles shift under his skin. The sharp, clean lines of his shoulder blades.

This is fine. Totally normal. Just painting your roommate blue.

You start with broad strokes, trying to be quick but even.

"How the hell did you do this last year?"

"Badly."

You laugh. "Why do you even do this?"

"Sam and I started first year, a few frat guys joined in, and now it's tradition. Plus, we always get free drinks."

"Ah, so it's a scam."

He grins. "A hundred percent."

You keep painting, working your way down his spine. His skin is warm under the paintbrush, and you have to focus hard to keep your strokes even.

"You're really dedicated to school spirit for someone who called our mascot 'a corporate sellout' last week."

Luigi laughs. "I stand by that. He's got three sponsorships, that's insane."

You shake your head. "Alright, turn a little, I gotta get this side." You tap his ribs lightly, and he follows your instruction. The movement draws your eyes to his jaw—strong, slightly stubbled.

You swallow.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

"So," he says lightly, "what were you studying?"

"Just some readings. Hard to focus."

"Yeah?" He smirks. "Because I'm here, or because you're thinking about noodles?"

You press the brush into his shoulder a little harder.

"Ow." He winces dramatically. "Abuse."

You snort. "You're literally covered in paint and complaining about a brushstroke?"

"Look, I'm delicate."

"You're insufferable."

He laughs, and you try to ignore the way your stomach flips again. You sigh, pulling back. "This brush is too small."

Luigi smirks. "You calling me fat?"

Your eyes widen. "What? No, you're just—" You pause. "Big."

Luigi blinks. "What?"

"Like... broad."

His smirk deepens. "You think I'm broad?"

You roll your eyes. "Objectively."

He chuckles, stretching slightly. "Use your hands. Might be easier."

Your hands?

You stare at his back for a second like it's suddenly an entirely different thing.

This is fine. Totally normal. Just painting your friend blue. With your hands.

Right.

"Okay," you say, a little too quickly, setting the brush down. You press your palms into the cool paint, spreading it across his back in slow, deliberate strokes. The texture is strange—thick, slightly tacky as it glides over his skin—but what gets you more is the warmth beneath it. His muscles shift slightly under your touch, solid and strong, and you have to focus hard to keep your movements steady. You let your hands glide from his upper back to his lower, fingers spreading the paint in slow strokes.

Luigi exhales, deep and slow. "You're being so gentle." His voice is teasing, but there's something else underneath it—something softer.

"I don't want to hurt you," you murmur. "Your back—"

"You're not hurting me." A pause. Then, with a slight turn of his head, he grins. "It's actually really nice."

You swallow, pressing your fingers into the dips of his shoulder blades, blending the paint with smooth, even pressure. The moment stretches, quieter now, filled only by the soft sound of your hands working over his skin. His breathing is steady, slow, like he's letting himself relax into it.

You clear your throat, "Well, I'm almost done. Just gotta make sure it's even."

Luigi hums in response, tilting his head slightly like he's considering something. "You're really good at this."

You scoff. "What, painting?"

He smirks. "Ever considered a career in body painting?"

You roll your eyes. "Didn't you know? That's why I'm at Penn."

His chuckle is low and warm, and you can't help but smile as you take a step back, running your eyes over your work. The blue paint covers his back smoothly, deep and even, accentuating the defined lines of his shoulders and spine.

"What do you think?" you ask.

Luigi twists slightly to check his reflection in the nearby mirror. "Damn," he smirks, flexing his arms just a little. "I look clean."

You roll your eyes but laugh. "Alright, you need help with anything else?"

He catches your gaze in the mirror, his smirk softening just slightly. "Nah, you've done enough. Seriously—thanks."

You wave a hand dismissively, suddenly feeling warm. "Yeah, yeah. Go win the school spirit award and drink cheap beer, or whatever."

Luigi snorts, then—before you can react—reaches over and swipes a blue-painted finger across your cheek.

"Hey—!" You gasp, stepping back as he grins mischievously.

"Oops," he says, absolutely not sounding sorry.

You narrow your eyes, pointing a warning finger at him. "You're dead."

Luigi just winks, stepping carefully off his towel island. "Catch me after the rally, then."

And with that, he grabs his shoes, flashes you one last playful grin, and heads out the door—leaving you standing there, heart pounding, with a blue streak on your face and a whole lot of thoughts you probably shouldn't be having.

part 2?😇😇

bratty reader teasing him in public

w/c: 1.3k

so rushed & barely edited sorry aaaa

The club is packed, neon lights pulsing in time with the bass-heavy music. Your friends are lost in the crowd, dancing and laughing, but you’re moving toward the bar when you spot him.

Your boyfriend Luigi, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, talking to some guy you don’t know. He looks good, unfairly good. The kind of good that makes you feel reckless.

You could barely hold a conversation before you left for the club. His fresh cologne, those curls, one of your favourite outfits of his… it was a miracle you even made it out the door.

On impulse, you slow as you pass him, stepping just close enough to murmur in his ear, voice light and teasing.

“Do you have a condom?”

The words roll off your tongue effortlessly, barely audible over the music, but they hit him like a truck.

“What?” He turns his head so fast you almost feel the air shift. His expression is priceless—brows raised, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide with disbelief.

You just smile as he blinks, tilting your head like it was nothing. “Nothing,” you say, voice all sugary mischief, before slipping back into the crowd, leaving him standing there, drink forgotten in his hand.

You don’t have to look back to know he’s still staring after you, stunned, flustered, and—if you had to guess—just a little intrigued.

You disappear into the sea of bodies, grinning to yourself, but you don’t make it far before you feel a hand at your waist—firm, possessive, familiar.

Luigi.

He spins you around, and the way he’s looking at you sends a shiver down your spine. His glowing eyes sharp, searching, still a little dazed from what you just pulled. He leans in, close enough that his lips almost brush your ear.

“What was that?” His voice is low, rough with amusement but laced with something else—something darker, hungrier.

You bat your lashes up at him, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

His fingers flex at your waist. “You know what I mean.”

You just smirk, slipping your arms around his neck. “You seemed flustered.”

Luigi huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, no shit. Who just whispers that and walks away?”

“I do,” you tease, dragging your nails lightly against the nape of his neck.

His jaw tightens, but his lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. “You’re trouble.”

You lean up, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear now. “And you love it.”

Luigi exhales sharply through his nose, then suddenly, his grip tightens, and before you can react, he’s pulling you flush against him. His voice drops, rich with amusement and something heavier underneath.

“I do,” he admits. “But you know you’re not getting away with that, right?”

Your stomach flips, but you keep your composure, tilting your chin up in challenge. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

Luigi just smirks, slow and knowing. He leans in like he’s about to kiss you, but instead, he murmurs against your lips—

“You’ll see.”

And just like that, he lets you go, stepping back with an infuriating wink before disappearing into the crowd.

Now it’s your turn to be flustered, of course.

You exhale sharply, rolling your lips together, fighting the mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up inside you. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it.

You don’t chase him. That would give him too much satisfaction. Instead, you turn back to your friends, pretending like nothing happened, like your pulse isn’t still thrumming from the way his hands felt on you.

But as the night goes on, you make sure to stay just within his line of sight.

When you’re at the bar, laughing at something your friend says, you let your hand drift to your collarbone, trailing down your neck like you’re oblivious to the way his eyes linger. When you dance, you sway just a little slower, tilting your head back, casually pulling the hem of your skirt.. just flashing glimpses of skin, his weaknesses, knowing damn well he’s watching.

You don’t look at him. You don’t have to.

Luigi’s patient. He’s good at playing the long game. But you know him. And you know exactly how to push him past that breaking point.

It happens when you’re near the exit, finishing the last sip of your drink, still chatting with your friends. You feel him before you see him—his presence like a shift in the air, something warm and inevitable pressing in at your back.

Then, suddenly.. A hand wraps around your wrist.

You barely have time to react before Luigi’s pulling you away from your friends, away from the music and the neon lights, leading you through the crowd with that same quiet confidence, like he owns this moment. And maybe he does.

You let him.

He doesn’t stop until you’re in the dimly lit hallway near the bathrooms, music slightly faded, away from prying eyes. Then, finally, he turns to face you, stepping in close, so close you’re pressed against the wall, caged in by the heat of him.

“You think you’re cute, huh?” His voice is low, measured, but you can hear the tension beneath it, the restraint.

You tilt your chin up, feigning innocence. “I know I am.”

Luigi huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head, but there’s no humour in his eyes—just something darker, something hungry.

“You’ve been teasing me all night.” His hands find your waist, firm and unyielding. “You enjoying yourself?”

You bite your lip, pretending to think. “A little.”

His grip tightens. Not enough to hurt—just enough to let you know he’s done playing.

“Yeah?” His voice dips, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. “Well, let’s see if you’re still smiling when I’m done with you.”

You gently gasp.

And then, finally—after all that teasing, all that back and forth—Luigi caves. The moment his lips crash against yours, the game is over.

Luigi kisses like he does everything else—passionate, intense, deliberate, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. His hands tighten at your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall as he deepens the kiss, stealing the breath right from your lungs.

You melt into him, gripping at his shirt, your body responding before your mind can catch up. It’s a little unfair how easily he can unravel you after you spent all night trying to throw him off.

But you’re not giving in that easily.

You kiss him back just as intensely , nails dragging lightly against the back of his neck, pulling him closer, swallowing the quiet groan he lets out. He presses his hips against yours, letting you feel just how much your teasing got to him.

“Still having fun?” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough with amusement.

You smirk, just to be a brat about it. “Mmhm.”

Luigi exhales a sharp laugh, but you don’t miss the way his grip tightens, like he’s barely holding himself back. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

You bat your lashes up at him. “Yet, you’re my boyfriend.”

His jaw flexes, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Unfortunately.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, his pretty hazel eyes dark with amusement and something deeper. His thumb brushes over your cheek, his other hand still firm at your waist.

“And for the record,” he mutters, voice low and rough, “of course I have a fucking condom.”

You blink up at him, breathless, before a slow, teasing smile curls at your lips.

“Good,” you whisper, tugging him back down. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Luigi exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe you; But the way he kisses you after that? You definitely won tonight.

And that condom will NOT go unused

omg yes i’ve seen it .. from the missing poster? i heard he wasn’t doing too well in that pic :,) regardless he is so handsome and i ❤️ facial hair!! u are seen. here’s what i came up with, enjoy:)

This week has felt endless, all of your days spent with Luigi on his computer. The sun has risen and set on his face as he’s been stuck on the couch at all hours, working.

You step through the door, dropping your work bag onto the ground and kicking off your shoes. “Hi, baby,”

“Hi, my love.” Luigi’s eyes stay glued to the screen. “How was work?”

You shrug. “The usual… you? Almost done?”

Luigi leans back, rubbing his face. “This software, I…” His words trail off into a groan. “I’m just over it. My eyes sting, my back aches… fuck.”

You quickly settle beside him, taking his laptop from his lap and closing it.

“Hey, no, it’s okay—”

“Let’s just put this here,” you say, placing it on the coffee table. “You need a break, Lu.”

He exhales deeply, knowing you’re right. Luigi never gives himself breaks, always pushing his limits. You’ve seen this before, he gets absorbed in a grueling work project and buries himself in it, neglecting himself, neglecting you. He gets into his own head, insecure moods, feeling like he’s given up his life for work.

Your fingers slip into his curls, massaging the back of his head, easing the tension at his nape. Luigi unintentionally melts into your touch, humming at the sensation. “Mmm, that feels so good,” he murmurs, eyes closed.

You grin. “You’re so cute.”

He scoffs. “Right. I feel disgusting. I probably look disgusting, too.” He rubs his chin. “Shit, my beard is coming in. I didn’t even realize. How bad is it?” He looks at you with the weariest eyes, as if he’s grown a wizard-style beard down to his ankles.

You chuckle. “It’s just scruff, Lu—”

“Oh god, it’s worse than I thought.”

“No, no! It’s… great. You look great.” you struggle to find the words. 

“But you’re laughing. It’s bad.”

“Luigi, it’s not bad at all. You look, handsome.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

You hesitate, debating whether to say it out loud. Then you sigh, knowing you can’t take it back now. “You’re getting so worked up over a little bit of facial hair, and all I want to do is sit on it.”

Luigi blinks. His mouth parts slightly. “Oh.” He rubs his lip. “I thought you were laughing because it looked messy but… you…”

“Didn’t know how to tell you it turns me on?”

“Yeah…” He processes for a moment, sitting in silence. You chuckle. “Baby, I think all the screen time is getting to your brain.”

He laughs. “Wait, so… you find me hot like this?” He gestures to his face. You nod. “Like this?” He asks again, incredulous. “Yes!” you reply. 

Luigi watches you closely, tilting his head slightly. The moment stretches between you, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. Then, he raises an eyebrow. Your face heats instantly. Luigi’s lips curl into a slow, teasing smile. “No way. You’re actually flustered.” he remarks at your reaction to his charm. You immediately look away, covering your face with your hands. “Shut up.”

Luigi laughs. “I didn’t believe you at first, but wow.” he teases. You shake your head, face still covered. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed,” Luigi murmurs, voice low, almost a whisper.

“You’re not making this easier,” you mutter, your voice weaker than you want it to be.

Luigi chuckles, his hand brushing against your thigh; light, casual, but deliberate. His fingers graze the hem of your shirt, teasing the skin beneath it. You gasp softly, your breath hitching. Of course, Luigi notices. “What, baby?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it now, something darker. He moves closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Tell me what you want.”

You can feel your heart beating in your chest. “You know what I want,” you breathe. A slow, knowing smile spreads across Luigi’s face as he pulls you in, his hand settling on your waist. “Do I?”

His lips press to your neck; Soft, barely there, but it makes your stomach flip. You turn your head, your lips only inches from his, “I want you,” you whisper. “Like this.”

Luigi exhales sharply, his lips brushing against yours as he leans in. The kiss starts slow, but it deepens quickly, turning into something urgent. His hands are no longer teasing; they’re pulling you closer, his tongue tracing yours.

Every touch, every kiss is a silent confession of how much you’ve missed this, missed him. His hands slip beneath your shirt, grazing your skin with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. He grips your waist, pressing you against him as he deepens the kiss. “Luigi…” you gasp, fingers threading through his disheveled curls. His eyes dark with desperation, flick between yours. “I’ve wanted you all week,” he murmurs. “But I didn’t think you’d be into it.”

You smirk, your hands roaming over his chest, “I’ve always had a thing for your facial hair. You’ve been driving me crazy these last few days.” you say. "Really?" Luigi huffs.

"You on the couch, working away, wouldn't even look at me... I couldn't keep my eyes off you... but you're so busy," you admit, breathless.

Luigi exhales, shaking his head. "I wasn't ignoring you." His hands tighten on your waist, as if grounding himself, reassuring you. "I just--" He sighs. "I felt like a mess. Stressed. Exhausted. And you—" His eyes search yours. "I didn't think you'd want this. Not when I was like that."

You hand gently grasps the side of his face, "Luigi," you murmur. "I always want you."

His breath hitches, something shifting in his gaze—  something darker, needier— before he groans, gripping the backs of your thighs and pulling you effortlessly into his lap. "Good," he mutters, his voice thick with want. "I was getting sick of holding back." The change in position presses you even closer, heat searing between you. 

You break away, breathless. "Luigi... your project.."

His lips brush over your jaw, his smirk teasing but his touch anything but. "Work can wait," he murmurs, his voice rough, hands moving over you with purpose. You chuckle breathlessly, your fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the tight muscle beneath. “You’re right, you’ve been at it too long,” you murmur; not an accusation, but a plea. “You need a real break.”

Luigi’s gaze dips to your lips, then back to your eyes. He doesn’t smile this time. He just leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “I think I’ve found one,” he murmurs.

He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His scruff grazes your skin, making the kiss feel deeper, more intimate. When he pulls back, his expression is different—more dangerous, more certain. “You look so fucking good,” he mutters, voice thick with desire. His hands slide lower, confident and possessive, pulling you closer. His lips brush your ear, his stubble grazing your skin. “I’ve missed this,” Luigi breathes, his voice husky against you. “You. This. Right here.” He returns to your lips, his kisses growing deeper, hungrier. He pulls away just enough to let you breathe, his lips slick and eyes locked on yours. His hand moves up your thigh, slow and deliberate.

“I know this started because I had you all worked up,” he murmurs, voice rough. “But I think you deserve a little attention.” His fingers graze the hem of your pants, teasing.

You smirk, tilting your head. “But you've been working so hard, you deserve a little... satisfaction. Don't you think?"

Luigi’s gaze sharpens, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. “I’m not the one who’s been waiting all week,” he says, pulling you closer by tight grip on your waist.

You lean in, lips grazing his ear, your voice low and dripping with promise. “You look so good, just let me take care of you tonight.” The words hang in the air, charged with tension. “I mean.. you didn’t believe me, right? Let me prove it.” You let your fingers trace along his chest, teasing him as you pull back just enough to catch his reaction.

Luigi exhales a shaky breath, his grip tightening on you again. A low, appreciative chuckle escapes him, “I like the sound of that,” he gives in, his voice rough with need, “I’m so fucking lucky.”

“Does that mean you’ll let your facial hair grow out a little more often?” You bat your eyelashes playfully. Luigi smirks, pressing another kiss to your lips. "Maybe, for you," he says, giving you a wink.

a/n: i just finished writing this at 3:40 am omfg i have work in the morning …. so I’m not properly editing this but i hope u guys like it regardless 🤭🤭🤭😇😇

i hope what i came up with satisfies the vision you had 🤭 <33

The lecture hall is packed, but you force yourself to focus. Your slides, your voice, the rhythm of your words—you pray they flow exactly as you rehearsed. You’ve practiced in the mirror a hundred times, double-checked the projector, eliminated every possible technical issue.

Most of it is a blur, but the roar of applause snaps you back to reality. You did it. A grin spreads across your face as you nod in thanks, your gaze sweeping the audience.

Then, you spot him. Luigi. Clapping with conviction, his beautiful and proud smile unmistakable. God, those dimples. Only your closest friends know you’re together, most of your classmates assume you’re just close because you share lectures. But the way Luigi looks at you? If anyone paid close enough attention, they’d know.

As the excitement settles, Professor Neil—a sharp-dressed thirty-something with salt-and-pepper hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a perfectly tailored suit—leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. The pause lingers for just a beat too long before he smiles, “That was an outstanding presentation,” he says smoothly. “Your breakdown of the algorithm’s efficiency was not only thorough but incredibly engaging. Truly one of the best solo presentations I’ve seen in this course.”

You exhale, relief washing over you. “I really appreciate that, thank you, Professor Neil.”

He’s not done.

“Your articulation, your ability to distill complex ideas…” He lets out a low chuckle, “It’s rare to see someone with both the technical understanding and the presentation skills to match. Seriously impressive.” he admires. You stifle a breath. “Wow, I—” You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’m at a loss for words—”

“Don’t be.” Professor Neil interjects, his voice warm. “You came utterly prepared, and it shows. Phenomenal work.”

Luigi reluctantly watches from the audience, lips pressed together, his eyebrows furrowed. You don’t notice—too caught up in the overwhelming high of your success—but the tension in his jaw is impossible to miss.

Neil leans back, his attention flickering to the audience. “Come on, doesn’t she deserve all the praise?” He begins to clap again and the room erupts in applause. It feels like something out of a movie. Luigi forces his hands to clap. Firm, but grudging.

The noise dies down, and Professor Neil continues, “Honestly, I’d love to see you in research. You have the kind of mind that belongs in academia. Like…” He scoffs, shaking his head in amazement. “Wow, Y/N. Incredible. Everyone can learn from this blessing of a presentation we just witnessed.”

Then, just as he opens his mouth again, a new voice cuts in.

“Hm. Yeah… You made a great point, Professor.”

Luigi.

You blink, caught off guard as he rests his hand on his chin, the picture of casual, innocent curiosity. Luigi’s voice is calm, measured—agreeing, on the surface—but there’s an unmistakable sharpness beneath it. A subtle, lethal edge only you can recognize. “You know what I found especially impressive?” Luigi muses, tilting his head. “The way y/n optimized the recursion depth in the backtracking algorithm. Most people would’ve left it at the standard implementation, but she rewrote it to reduce redundant calls. Cut the time complexity significantly.”

Silence. The kind that stretches. The kind that exposes.

Professor Neil blinks. His face doesn’t falter, but you see the shift.. the brief pause.. the realization that Luigi just cornered him.

Because Professor Neil hadn’t mentioned that. Because he probably didn’t even notice.

“Oh,” your professor says after a second. “Yes… right, yes. I think that was a great detail too.”

Luigi nods, all polite acknowledgment, but there’s something simmering beneath it. A glint in his eye that says, I see through you.

You inhale, forcing a casual smile. “Oh, yeah, I figured reducing the recursion depth would make the solution more scalable,” you say lightly, playing along. “Didn’t want it to time out on larger inputs.” you explain. Luigi hums approvingly. His lips curve slightly—not quite a smirk, but close.

“Thank you for that insight and reassurance, Luigi.” you acknowledge professionally.

“My pleasure, y/n.” he replies smoothly.

Your professor clears his throat, shifting his attention elsewhere. The moment passes. But as you glance at Luigi, catching the barely-contained amusement in his expression, a warm flutter spreads through you.

That was hot.

part 2 linked hereeee! didn’t wan this to run too long lol, here’s the continuation of after you leave the lecture ..

You’re drunk. Very drunk. And despite every logical part of your brain telling you not to, you call your best friend Luigi.

He doesn’t pick up, so you leave a voicemail.

“Luuuigi…” You drag out his name like a secret, slurred at the edges. “M’drunk… and I like you. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.” You hiccup, giggling to yourself. “That’s a secret, though. But I can’t keep it a secret anymore. Like… more than a friends way.” A dreamy sigh escapes you. “Love you… Anyway, byeeee.”

And with that, you hang up, completely oblivious to the chaos you’ve just unleashed.

Luigi runs a hand through his curls as he listens to your voicemail, standing frozen in the dim glow of his phone screen.

His first reaction? A sharp inhale, his pulse quickening. His second? A hand over his mouth as he exhales a slow, steady breath, trying to suppress the smirk pulling at his lips.

Of all the ways he imagined this happening—if it ever did—this wasn’t one of them.

He calls you. No answer.

He texts you. No reply.

His stomach twists. Drunk. Alone. And you just confessed to him like it was nothing more than a casual remark.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s knocking on your door.

“Come iinnn…” your groggy voice calls out.

Luigi steps inside, his sharp hazel eyes scanning the room. You’re sprawled on the couch, one arm draped dramatically over your forehead like a tragic damsel from an old film.

You blink up at him, confusion flickering across your face. “Luigi? Why are you here?”

His lips part, then press into a thin line as he exhales through his nose. He shifts his weight, pushing a hand through his curls. “You called me,” he says, then adds, almost hesitantly, “…said some other things.”

You squint. “Did I?” Then, suddenly, you burst into laughter, the kind that shakes your whole body. “Guess I forgot.”

He watches you, one brow arching. “Clearly.”

You stretch like a cat, then pout up at him. “You always get like this when I drink.”

Luigi lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, because you drinking alone and ignoring my texts is exactly what I wanted to deal with tonight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He drops a case of water onto the floor beside the couch. “Because I came prepared.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you seriously—”

“Three bottles every hour,” he informs you matter-of-factly, crouching beside you. “Or at least until you stop acting like a Shakespearean tragedy.”

You groan, letting yourself sink into the cushions. “Ugh, you’re such a nerd.”

“Yeah? Well, this nerd just saved you from a hellish hangover.” He cracks open a bottle, handing it to you. “Drink.”

You do, only because he’s watching you so intently. He leans back on his heels, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.” His lips twitch. “You’re just really honest when you’re drunk.”

Your stomach flips. “Oh?” You try to sound nonchalant, but it comes out nervous. “Mhm.” He tilts his head slightly. “You sure you don’t remember what you said?”

You shake your head, looking away. “Nope.”

His eyes gleam. “Interesting.”

A flicker of panic sparks in your chest. Did you say something that bad? Did you embarrass yourself beyond repair?

Before you can spiral, exhaustion washes over you, the warmth of alcohol lulling you into drowsiness. You shift, leaning against him, your forehead pressing lightly into his shoulder. “Stay,” you mumble. Luigi tenses slightly before relaxing. His arm curls around you, rubbing slow circles against your back. “Anything you need,” he murmurs, voice softer now. Your fingers brush against his shirt, gripping just slightly. He exhales, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he watches you slip into sleep.

It’s only then that Luigi allows himself to fully process what just happened.

You like him.

A lot.

And now he’s sitting here with you wrapped around him, heart pounding, unable to stop himself from smoothing his fingers through your hair.

“You gave me a scare, you know,” he mutters to your sleeping form. “But I guess you’re full of surprises.” His gaze lingers on you, his usual sharp and teasing expression softening. Then, eventually, he lets himself fall asleep, too.

When you wake up, everything is… warm.

Too warm.

Your cheek is pressed against something firm, your legs tangled with someone else’s. And—oh god—your hand is resting dangerously close to…

Your breath catches.

Slowly, you lift your head, blinking the sleep from your eyes.

Luigi.

Luigi, who is currently knocked out beneath you, looking entirely too peaceful, his usually strong features relaxed in slumber.

You stare.

Oh.

Oh no.

Did you—?

Your eyes dart to your clothes. Still on. Okay. That’s… good? Bad? Your head is pounding too much to tell.

Before you can overthink it, a deep, groggy voice cuts through the silence.

“Enjoying the view?”

Your whole body jerks.

Luigi’s eyes are barely open, but there’s a smug curve to his lips, amusement laced through his sleep-heavy tone.

You sputter. “I—! No—! I—”

He chuckles, stretching with a slow, lazy elegance. His hand lifts to rub at his face, then he peers at you with an unreadable expression.

Then, in a voice far too casual for the situation, he says, “I like you.”

Your brain stalls.

“Like…” You squint. “Like, like-like?”

He smirks. “What are we, twelve?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again. “Wait.” A sudden realization dawns. “Did I say something last night?”

Luigi leans in, eyes dark with mischief. “Nope.”

You narrow your eyes. “…Liar.”

His smirk grows.

Your heart races.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. He immediately pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you. It’s slow and warm, a little uncertain at first, but the way he kisses back—firm, assured, just a hint of teasing—you melt into it.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little heavier.

“You have work soon,” you murmur, suddenly remembering. Luigi sighs dramatically. “Tragic, really.”

You grin. “What if you were just a teensy bit late?”

He hums, pretending to consider. “And what would I get in return?”

You lean in, letting your lips ghost over his. “Guess you’ll have to stay and find out.”

Luigi lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Tempting.” He stands. Before leaving, he tugs you forward by the wrist, planting one last kiss at the corner of your lips. “I’ll be back later, sweetheart.” His voice is low, promising.

And as you watch him go, you already can’t wait for later.

Part 3/3 

— Final part based on request from anon: “thinking about long-term relationship reader and lu and how their interactions would look like right before he cut contact w/ everyone … “ Grab your tissues.

link to part 1 <3 (appartement’s floor plan is here)

link to part 2 <3

The next morning, you woke up with a light grin on your face as you reminisced on the moments before you had fallen asleep. You rolled over, reaching your arm out expecting it to land gently on Luigi’s strong chest, as it usually does. Your hand falls further than expected, hitting the mattress. Your brows furrow, eyes still closed. You attempt to force them open, the bright, sunny room blinding you as you try to see. All you see are blurry, white sheets. Empty bed. You slowly lift your body, sitting up, rubbing your eyes with urgency. “Baby?” you call out, your voice weak and groggy. Usually if he doesn't respond the first time, you hear the sizzling pan on the stove, or the faucet running for the dishes. Nothing. “Luigi???” you raspily call out, much louder this time. Forcing your tired body to carry its own weight, you stumble out of bed. 

You rush into the kitchen, standing just outside your bedroom door to observe the living space. It’s as if the world is frozen, the way everything is untouched. Everything is still, silent. One could assume you live alone. No dishes in the drying rack, everything clean and tidy. Luigi’s keys aren't hanging and his wallet is gone from the counter at the front, where they usually are.

You take a couple of steps further, your heart beginning to race. The air smells faintly of Luigi’s cologne, but something about it feels wrong, almost like it’s been lingering for so long that it’s become stale. A weight sets in your chest, confirming something must be wrong. You go from practically standing still, frozen, to rushing around the apartment, desperate for clues. 

His toothbrush is missing from the bathroom, weatherproof jacket gone from the coat rack, favourite backpack missing from the closet. His shoes, the ones he always leaves by the door, aren’t there.

In the midst of your panicked search, you rush into the living room and your heart drops. You stop dead in your tracks, almost falling forward. The only room in the apartment that you’ve come across that isn’t perfectly neat or missing items; It has something left behind. 

You sit on the couch in front of the table– where you start every morning –to find your usual breakfast. Morning coffee with jam on toast is made, just how you like it. Next to it, a large box with a folded note on top of it, perfectly centred. Scared to meddle with potentially the last untouched part you have of Luigi, you gently grasp the mug’s handle. It’s cold, so is your toast. 

You take a deep breath, feeling lightheaded, head almost fuzzy. Picking up the note, you slowly unfold. There it is, the sight of Luigi’s handwriting. 

You immediately break down at the sight of his nickname for you, in that writing you’d always make fun of him for. 

Mia stellina,

I don’t know how to explain this in a way that will make it hurt any less. I’ve turned the words over in my mind a thousand times, but there’s no version of this that feels okay. But, you guessed it. I’m not backpacking. Don’t kill me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back.

I never wanted to lie to you, but the truth felt impossible to say out loud. I have a feeling a part of you already knew. No way to make leaving you feel like anything other than a mistake, even when I know I have no other choice.

How can I explain walking away from the one person who gave my life meaning? How can I make you understand something even if I don't fully understand myself?

What I can say with certainty, the only thing that matters, is that I love you. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. You’ve given me light in a life that’s known too much darkness, and that light has saved me in ways I can never repay. Being loved by you was the greatest gift of my life. You are my heart, my home, my peace.

And still, I have to leave.

I can’t tell you why. I can’t explain. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t find the words to make it make sense. There are things I have to do, things I can’t let touch you. Please don’t think this is your fault or something you could have stopped. It’s not. This is my choice, and as much as it’s breaking me, it’s one I have to make.

I know you’ll hate me for not saying goodbye in person, for not giving you a chance to stop me. But if I had stayed one more minute, looked into your eyes one more time, I wouldn’t have been able to leave. And I have to go. Even if it kills me. Even if it means walking away from the future we dreamed of.

Last night, as we looked at the stars, I tried to memorize every second. The way your face lit up when you found a constellation. The way your fingers found mine without a thought. It’s all burned into my memory now, something I’ll carry with me, no matter where I go. Just like I will carry the memory of that summer evening at the lake—the two of us sitting on the dock, your feet in the water, my arm around you. I think about that night often—how safe it felt, how you made everything else disappear. Maybe one day, if the stars align again, we’ll meet there. I don’t know if that day will ever come, but if it does, you’ll know where to find me. I will look for you in every night sky.

Also, last night, I’ve replayed the moment a thousand times. When you mentioned our future kids, I should have said something then. I should have told you that I've always wanted that, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. That I dreamt of our life together, of raising children with you, speaking Italian together. But in that moment, I froze. I couldn’t find the words, not because they weren’t there, but because I knew, deep down, I was about to leave. I knew I wouldn’t be there to make that future with you. And I couldn’t bear to tell you that. I couldn’t bear to break your heart more than I already was.

I wish I had said, "Yes, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. A family with you." I wish I had told you how much I loved you, how much I wanted a life filled with laughter, with our children running around, with us speaking Italian in our home, just as you imagined.

Please don’t think for a second that I didn’t want that with all my heart. But the truth is, I couldn’t give it to you. And I couldn’t leave without telling you this now, even though I know it may hurt you.

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I don’t know if we will ever see each other again. Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. I don’t have that answer, and that uncertainty will haunt me for the rest of my life.

But I need you to live. Don’t let this letter, or my leaving, hold you back. Don’t let it steal the light from you that I love so much. Live boldly, laugh loudly—obnoxiously, please—love deeply. Be everything you’re meant to be, and do it for both of us. Do all the things we talked about, even if it’s without me. Live the life you deserve, my love, because that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Even though the thought of you finding happiness with someone else kills me, I hope, with everything in me, that you find it. I need to know you will live a life full of joy and beauty, even if I can’t be there to witness it.

I will hold onto you for as long as I live. Your laugh, your smile, the way your hand fits in mine; they’re all a part of me now, they always will be. No matter where I go, no matter what happens, I will never stop loving you. You are my greatest joy, my only regret, my eternal hope. You are the love of my life.

I couldn’t leave you with nothing, not when you’ve given me so much. I know it won’t make this any easier, but I need you to have these pieces of me, even if they don’t feel like enough.

The hoodie. Yeah, THAT hoodie. The one you always teased me for wearing because I practically lived in it. You’d roll your eyes and say, “Again? Don’t you have any other clothes?” I can hear your voice as I write this. You’d tease and whine, then steal it off me when I wasn’t looking. I saw how you’d wrap yourself in it, how your shoulders would relax like you were safe. So it’s yours now. It’s yours for good. Hold onto it. Pull it tight when you need to feel me close. I sprayed it with my cologne, the one you love, but most of it is just me.

Your top three favourite books. Don’t worry. I bought new, hardcover copies because I know you would hate if I ‘damaged your originals’. I annotated the margins. So, if you ever want to reread them together, my thoughts intertwined with the words, it’s as if I’m speaking to you through them. Whenever you miss me, let’s read together.

The cash—it’s not a gift, and it’s not pity. It’s practicality. I know you’ll try to argue with me, even if I’m not there to hear it. But you’ve got dreams, my love. I want to make sure you can chase them. Whether it’s traveling to all the places we talked about, starting that project you kept putting off, or just giving yourself time to breathe, use it. I beg that you use it. Live the kind of life you deserve, not for me (okay maybe a little for me), but for you.

Also, because I can’t be there to take care of you anymore, I did something you might be upset about, but I don’t care. The apartment is yours. Paid off, in full. No mortgage, no rent. You’ll never have to worry about it again. Consider it my last selfish act, because I couldn't stand the thought of you struggling, of you losing the one place that still smells like us. Keep it. Sell it. Burn it down, if that’s what you need to do. But I wanted to leave you with something more than memories, and this way you have a choice.

Even if I can’t be there, at least this can. 

The ring… I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you. Clearly there isn’t a perfect moment now. 

It’s engraved with our birthstones and initials on the inside. I don’t know what to say, except that it was always meant for you. Keep it, wear it daily, your ring finger, or not. Throw it into the ocean, wear it on a chain– whatever you need to do. But know that when I bought it, it was with forever in mind.

Okay, my turn to admit to being greedy. I took a few things of yours, too. I know it’s selfish, but I needed something of yours to hold onto, too. Something that feels like you in the most private, unfiltered way. Here goes, 

Your favourite lingerie. It wasn’t just about how beautiful it looked on you. It was about the way you carried yourself in it, the way your confidence would flicker into something soft when I traced my fingers down your spine. I took it because I couldn’t let go of that feeling. A private keepsake of the way we fit together, of the moments that were just ours.

Your sleep shirt, the one you always stole from me.. now it’s my turn. It still smells like you, like the warmth of early mornings and the way you used to curl into me, allowing your body to fully rest within each other in my grasp, before you were fully awake.

Before you get mad, there’s something else. I tore a page from your diary. Just one. Not one of the heavy ones, not the pages where you spilled your worst days or your fears (those are sacred to you, and I would never take them from you). The page I took was different. It was about an ordinary day, the kind you’ve probably forgotten. The way the sun’s warmth felt on your face, the way your coffee tasted just right, the way you caught yourself humming one of those songs you love but never remember the name of, a cute caterpillar you saw. You wrote about how the smallest things made the day feel special, and how grateful you were for moments like that.

I needed that. Your words, in your own handwriting, a reminder of how you see the world. How you find joy in the little things, how you make everything brighter just by being in it. That page is proof that you’ll find those moments again, even without me. I’ll keep it with me always; a piece of your light, folded into my pocket.

I know none of this will fill the space I’ve left. None of these things can hold you when you feel alone. They won’t make you laugh when you need it, or tease you when you roll your eyes at me. But I hope they remind you that I loved you. That I will always love you. That no matter where I go, you’re with me.

I need you to live, my love. To laugh so hard you cry, to wake up and feel like the world is wide open for you. Live for the both of us, okay? That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for leaving.

And if the world bends in some miraculous way, if life brings us back together when we least expect it, you’ll know it’s me when you see someone wearing that one stupid shirt, since the hoodie is yours now. You know the one.

For now, this is goodbye. But you’ll always be my light, my constant, my everything.

If there is a chance for us, a day when fate brings us back together, I will find my way to you. I promise. But if that day never comes, please remember that I loved you more than words could ever say. Our love is the kind of love that I thought only existed in, well, not MY books, but your books. Fairytale love.

I don’t have the words to say goodbye, not really. I was supposed to finish writing five minutes ago. I don’t think there’s a way to end this that doesn’t feel wrong. So I’ll just say this,

You were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’ll carry you with me, always. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Forever yours,

 Luigi 

You were on that couch for hours, a mess. You had no idea you were capable of shedding so many tears, wailing in ways you didn’t know your body could endure. You retraced every piece of Luigi in your life, the moments you shared, the quiet mornings and stolen glances, the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter. But there was nothing left of him now, just empty space. 

His location, a mystery. Your texts, unanswered. Your emails, unread.

You searched for other missing things, tiny remnants of his presence that might still linger—something, anything, to hold onto. Other things he may have taken of you. For example, a sample of your signature perfume. You noticed because the bottle was out of place on the shelf, a few drops spilled carelessly onto the counter. 

He invaded your dreams, every single night; And you were in his. 

In those dreams, You’re there with him, and somehow, he's there with you, even when you woke up to the empty silence of your room. You couldn’t believe it. Luigi had gotten to say goodbye, and you hadn’t. What you would say if you could just hear his voice again… if you could just tell him everything you never had the chance to say.

Some nights in your grief, you scream out from the balcony. Your voice echoing into the still night, raw and aching. A neighbour always reminds you, shouting from another balcony that you aren’t alone in this world. You get embarrassed, but it doesn't matter. In those moments, you felt like the universe had turned its back on you, and there's no one who could truly understand.

Sometimes, you whisper conversations in the dark, pretending Luigi still beside you. You’d look into the telescope’s eyepiece, pausing for a moment, waiting for him to look as well, as if he were still there, watching the stars with you. You continued to make meals, always enough for the two of you, but the second plate would always sit untouched, always ending up as leftovers in the fridge.

You reread your favourite books, each line a memory of something you had shared. You laughed at the comments you could still hear him saying, written in that handwriting, his voice alive in the words of the stories you both cherished.

You continued your days, waiting. Not fully sure what you were waiting for, or if it was even possible, but waiting nonetheless. You worked through accepting this new reality, and sometimes that meant you were cradling his hoodie, rewatching old videos, or fiddling with the ring on your finger as you fought back tears.

In the quiet moments, something shifted. No answers, no closure, just the faintest possibility that the story wasn’t over. The world moved on, and bit by bit, you did too in the slightest, even if your heart wasn’t ready. You wondered if you'd ever see him again or if the scattered bits of memories and physical pieces would ever come together.

But that was a question for later.

For now, you carried his memory, wrapped in your heart.

a/n: wwwwwooooweeee! see why it took me so long to finish that? LOL omg the amount of times i have cried…. anyways. If you want me to continue this, feel free to comment or send anon requests to how you see it continuing. Explaining why he left, if they’ll reunite. As always, i’m open to any and all feedback. love u guys. hope u enjoyed. mwah.

just some quick scenariosss, enjoy! x

You step into the living room and find Luigi sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone. His strong fingers lazily flick the screen, but as soon as he hears your footsteps, his pretty hazel eyes lift to meet yours.

“I’m sorry in advance if I’m a bitch,” you announce, already sighing at yourself. He smirks, setting his phone down. “Why would y—” His words trail off as realization dawns. He presses his lips together, then nods knowingly. “Shit. Shark week?”

You groan. “You’re a grown-ass man, Luigi. You can call it a period.”

His smirk deepens. “Oh, I know. I just like seeing you get all riled up about it.” He pats the couch beside him, inviting you closer. You slump down with a dramatic huff, guilt already creeping in. “See? I just got it this morning, and I’m already being mean to you.”

Luigi chuckles, the sound low and warm as he throws an arm around your shoulders. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I get it.”

Your brows furrow, and you tilt your head up to look at him. “Get it? What do you mean you ‘get it’? Do you have a uterus I don’t know about?”

He huffs a laugh, rubbing slow circles into your back. “I meant I get why you’ll be moody, not that I understand the pain.”

“Oh.” Your body sags against him, his scent—a mix of clean linen and something woodsy—immediately soothing you. His arms tighten slightly, and you melt further into his warmth.

But just as you start to drift into that perfect half-doze against his chest, he shifts. “Hey,” you whine as he lifts your head from his lap. “Before you get too comfortable, I need to do something.”

“What’s more important than cuddling me right now?” you grumble half-jokingly, watching him as he stands. He ruffles your hair affectionately on his way to the kitchen. You hear him opening cabinets, the soft hum of the microwave following soon after.

“The heating pad will be ready in three minutes,” he calls over his shoulder. “Stay put.”

“Like I have the energy to move,” you mumble, curling deeper into the couch. Suddenly, you realize his words. “Wait—what?!” You shoot up.

He pops his head back into the room, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Just relax, baby. I’ll be back in a bit.” He flips on your comfort show and tosses you the remote.

Still pouting, you watch him disappear down the hallway. The sound of the door closing tells you he’s gone out, and you sigh, resigning yourself to the lack of Luigi presence in the room.

Fifteen minutes later, the front door swings open and he reappears, dropping a couple of grocery bags onto the coffee table. “Gummy bears, dark chocolate, chamomile tea for cramps, ginger tea in case you get tired of chamomile…” He digs through the bags, muttering to himself. “Chips, cookies, popcorn, bananas—apparently, those help too—and, of course, ice cream.” He lifts the tub with a proud grin. “What’ll it be first?”

Your eyes widen, a slow, delighted smile creeping across your face. You try to find words, but they fumble on your lips. Luigi watches you, his smirk growing. “You okay over there?”

“Oh my god, I want to marry you right now,” you blurt.

His laughter is rich and teasing as he reaches for your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles where your engagement ring gleams. “I’m afraid you already agreed to that, sweetheart.” He kisses your knuckles.

⸻ <3

Later, you’re lying in Luigi’s lap, feeding him cookie after cookie.

“You do realize I bought these for you, not me,” he says around a mouthful of Oreo.

“I’m eating the cream part, though. You’re just getting the cookie.”

“Wow. What a generous trade-off.” His tone is dry, but the amused glint in his eye gives him away.

“You’re not allowed to be clever for the next few days. Now open up.” Before he can protest, you shove four more Oreo pieces into his mouth. He gives you a long, slow chew, shaking his head at your antics. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You grin, stretching out contentedly—until another wave of cramps makes you groan. “Luigiiii,” you whine dramatically, and he immediately looks over.

“What is it?”

Your sheepish smile tells him everything. He sighs but smirks. “Again?”

You nod.

He stands without a word, then scoops you effortlessly into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you toward the bathroom.

“Y’know, I could walk,” you point out.

“But will you?”

You fall silent.

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

Once inside, you sit on the toilet while he waits outside the door, as you instructed him to do. “Shit. I forgot to bring a pad again.”

Without missing a beat, you hear the rustling of a plastic package, then the quiet slide of something being pushed under the door. The pad stops at your foot. “Thanks,” you say, grinning even though he can’t see you.

“No problem, baby.”

When you step out, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting.

“You’re really gonna carry me back?”

Luigi gives you a slow once-over, his hazel eyes gleaming. “Any excuse to have you in my arms, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush as he effortlessly lifts you again, carrying you back to the couch.

⸻ <3

Later, as you lie curled against him, Luigi traces lazy patterns on your stomach, his fingertips feather-light. His warmth sinks into your skin, the slow rub of his palm lulling you into a daze. Then, without warning, he leans down and presses soft kisses against your belly. You peek at him suspiciously. “Luigi—what are you doing?”

“Kissing your stomach,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I read somewhere that warmth and gentle pressure help with cramps.” His lips move lower, brushing just above your waistband.

You swallow. “I thought you were about to go down on me.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, his forehead dropping to your stomach as his shoulders shake. “That’d be a hell of a way to help with cramps. I mean..” His words trail off as he gives you a knowing look. Your own laughter bubbles up, light and unrestrained. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins against your skin before placing one last kiss on your hipbone. “But you love it.”

⸻ <3

A show plays in the background, but your mind is elsewhere. Suddenly, a wave of frustration washes over you, and before you can stop yourself, tears well up.

Luigi notices immediately. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong, baby?” He shifts, cupping your face, his thumb brushing away a tear. “What happened?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I. I. I…” Your voice wobbles before you bury your face in his chest. “I’m so horny.”

Silence.

Then—Luigi starts laughing. Not just a chuckle. Full-bodied, head-thrown-back laughter.

“I’m serious!” you wail. “I’m so horny and there’s nothing I can do because I’m a bloody mess.”

He tries to rein it in, pressing his lips together, but the amused glint in his eye doesn’t fade. “Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls you closer, rubbing slow circles on your back. “You poor thing. I know I’ve said this before, but I really don’t mind—.”

“No, no, I know. I know you would, but I just get squeamish with the blood, and..” your words trail into a sigh. “I hate this,” you mumble dramatically.

His laughter softens as he lifts your chin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Listen, darling. In a few days, we’ll take care of that. But for now…” He reaches for your mug, pressing it into your hands. “Drink your tea, let me put on a movie.”

You huff but take a sip, settling against him as his arm tightens around you. “Good girl,” he murmurs by your ear, gently stroking your hair as he presses buttons on the remote.

And just like that, you decide that maybe—just maybe—you’ll survive this week after all.

a/n: guys how do we feel abt good girl. first time dropping it in a lu fic. do we love it or hate it.

anyways!! here’s something kinda new? just a series of imagines revolving around the same theme, how we feeelinnnn?

not totally in love w this one (or much of my writing lately for that matter) but i’d rather put out something for u guys rather than nothing, before my totally busy week raghhhh!!

mwah love u guys

xoxo - tt