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rosa-tulipano · 2 hours ago

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May the act begin - Luigi Mangione x reader

Notes : It’s been a little while since I last posted—I’ve been really wanting to write an enemies-to-lovers story so badly (sigh, Lu). Anyway, here it is! And don’t worry if you’ve sent a request—I’m currently working on it!

Warning : NSFW, enemies to lover, fake dating, submissive Luigi, submissive reader, dominant Luigi, dominant reader, cunnilingus, blowjob, P in V, doggy style, gentleman Luigi, caring Luigi, slapping, rough, talk trough it, breeding kink (I’ve seen a lot of writers doing this so I’m following the move, please let me know if I forgot anything !!!)

Words count : 7.1k

Updated Materlist

"You little freak. I knew it the first time I saw you," he said, smirking as he kissed you deeply.

"Groundbreaking, Luigi," you replied dryly, full of sarcasm.

He laughed and kissed you again—this time with more hunger.

This wasn’t love. It wasn’t tender. This was fucking, plain and simple. Tonight, you could do whatever you wanted to him—and he could do the same to you. He was your puppet, and you were his. He was here for one thing and one thing only: lust.

Because the truth was, you despised him. Mentally, emotionally—you couldn’t stand him. You hated him so much that you could ruin him and not feel a thing. You didn’t care about the consequences. It was Luigi, after all. One more reason for him to hate you wouldn’t change a damn thing between you.

And the cherry on top? You got to mess with him. That gave you more satisfaction than anything else happening right now. You wanted him to suffer. Because of you. You wanted him to beg. To fall at your feet. To be your obedient little toy.

"You're so fucking pathetic," you said, ripping open his shirt, buttons popping and scattering across the floor.

"Yeah? And yet you’re the one tearing off my clothes," he shot back without missing a beat.

"You begged me with those sad puppy eyes—‘Please Y/n, sleep with me. I’m just the poor nerd no girl wants,’"you mocked in a low, exaggerated voice.

He grinned and pulled your top over your head.

"Funny how at least one girl seems pretty into me right now."

You shoved him down onto the bed. He leaned back on his elbows, eyes gleaming with that same smug, infuriating glint. Then you straddled him, taking control.

"You’re so desperate you’re fucking the one girl who can’t stand you. Tell me—how deep does the self-loathing have to run to go crawling to the person who probably hates you the most?"

"What’s hilarious is that you're saying all this while grinding on me. Isn't that... ironic? Or is it an oxymoron?"

"Wow, learned a new word? Does playing the intellectual work for you often?"

He placed his hands on your hips and began to guide them, slow and deliberate. You couldn’t hold back the moan that slipped from your lips. Even through your jeans, you could feel how sure of himself he was—how in control. And God, you didn’t know how long you’d last.

Because damn, he was beautiful.

You had no idea that underneath those repetitive, boring clothes was a body like this. Broad shoulders, thick arms that looked like they could hold you down or hold you together. His chest was full and firm, pectorals sculpted like he’d been drawn by an artist. His collarbone was sharply defined, his neck thick and perfectly proportioned. You watched the way his Adam’s apple shifted when he spoke.

Even his nipples were perfect.

That little voice in your head got louder.

You pinched his right nipple—just to see what would happen.

He flinched, face twisting slightly, and you weren’t sure if it hurt or if he liked it. But deep down? You already knew.

He loved it.

The real question was…did you?

"Okay, that’s a first,"he said with a half-laugh. "Pinching my nipple? Seriously, Y/n? You’re so weird."

"I prefer the term unpredictable," you shot back. "And of course no one’s ever done that—you’re a loser who only hangs out with guys."

You didn’t give him time to answer. You leaned in and licked his nipple once, then glanced up at him, waiting for his reaction.

He slid a hand into your hair, giving a small nod.

You licked again—slower this time—then gently caught it between your teeth, biting just enough to make him feel it. His back arched against you. He hadn’t expected the sensation to hit him so hard.

"Go lower,"he ordered.

"Don’t give me orders,"you snapped, voice cold.

"Please," he said quickly. "Go lower. I’m begging you—I can’t take it anymore."

Much better.

You stood and slipped off your jeans and underwear in one smooth motion. Now you were completely naked in front of him, and there wasn’t a hint of shame in your posture. Why would there be? It was Luigi. What could he possibly say—insult you? Like that would faze you.

And… maybe it was more than that.

You trusted him. Despite the constant bickering, the tension, the games—he had never crossed the line. Not once.

Now he looked up at you, starry-eyed, lips parted in awe. That soft, almost reverent smile playing on his face.

"So that’s what a real woman looks like," you said, tilting your head. "In case you were wondering. A real one—not the fake ones in all that porn you probably watch every day."

Your gaze flicked to his nightstand, looking for a telltale box of tissues—something to prove your point.

Nothing. Just books and a lamp.

And since you showed up unannounced, it wasn’t like he had time to hide the evidence.

So maybe… he really didn’t.

And weirdly, that disappointed you.

You’d had so many jokes lined up.

"I don’t watch porn," he said as he unbuttoned his pants. "I’m against it."

You rolled your eyes.

"Wow, you’re so different. Should I give you a medal?" you replied, all sarcasm.

But part of you found it… refreshing. A guy who actually had thoughts of his own. Who didn’t just follow every urge or trend.

“I’m not a slave to my desires. I can stop whenever I want,” he said, like he meant it.

“Then let’s stop,” you challenged, though your voice faltered just slightly. You didn’t really mean it.

His expression shifted—something cracked beneath the surface.

“I... I don’t want to. Not now,” he murmured, placing a hand on your hip and gently drawing you back in. This kiss was different—softer, slower. Tender, even.

“Alright,” you breathed, ruffling his curls with a smirk. “I’ll take care of you. Then I’ll vanish from your life like a good little mistake.”

“I’ll take care of you too,” he replied, mirroring your tone. And just like that, your heart clenched. There was something in his voice—warm, sincere. Vulnerable. It made you feel… special. Like you were seeing a version of him no one else got to.

“You really had me fooled,” you teased. “You’re not the sweet little Luigi everyone thinks you are. Am I surprised? Not even a little.”

“That side’s just for you,” he said with a crooked smile. “You’re too far gone to handle the nice guy act anyway.”

“Wow,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Now I feel so important.”

“Then shut up,” he growled, smirking, “and get back to what you were doing. You’ll thank me later.”

He lay back again, and you moved to straddle him. Slowly, you started trailing kisses—his lips, his jaw, then down his throat. Your mouth explored every inch: his collarbone, his chest, the defined curve of his abs, the faint line of hair leading down to where his boxers sat low on his hips.

You could already see how hard he was through the fabric.

With deliberate slowness, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and pulled them down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and for a second, you just stared.

Perfect. It suited him—confident, imposing. Almost too much, but somehow exactly what you'd imagined.

You ran your hand down the length of him, gentle and curious, watching every shift in his expression. His head fell back with a quiet groan, and his hips twitched beneath your touch.

“Fuck… you’re too good,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you whispered, amused.

He sat up, planting his feet on the floor at the edge of the bed. And without missing a beat, you dropped to your knees in front of him. The hardwood was cool beneath you, but the heat between your bodies was burning.

His breath caught as your hands moved on him, slow strokes that made his cock pulse beneath your fingertips. He was already aching, hard, and waiting—and just the sight of it made your mouth water.

“Y/n…”

His voice was rough, gravel and heat, and it went straight through you.

But you didn’t look up. Not yet.

You leaned in, let your breath brush the tip, and felt his thighs tense.

Then, with no warning, you took him into your mouth—slow, deep, warm. His groan was instant and primal, his hand sliding into your hair, fingers curling but not pulling. You started slow, taking your time, teasing. Your tongue swirled as you set a rhythm, your lips moving around him with practiced control. But you could feel the shift—his breathing quickened, his hand tightened in your hair, his hips barely holding back. He wanted more. Needed it. And you wanted to give it to him so bad.

You picked up the rhythm, your lips and tongue working him harder, more relentlessly. His hand gripped your hair, guiding you deeper with each thrust. You felt him push past the back of your throat, your nose brushing against his stomach. You didn’t stop. You welcomed it.

“Fuck, Y/n…” he groaned, voice breaking, body trembling beneath your hands. His hips started moving, shallow thrusts into your mouth that grew rougher, more urgent. You held onto his thighs to steady yourself, letting him take control.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft. And you didn’t want it to be.

The room was filled with the sounds of his pleasure—his moans, the wet glide of your mouth, the low curse he whispered every time you took him deeper. Your throat ached, your jaw burned, but the way he responded, the way he came undone beneath you—it was worth everything. He was close. You could feel it. His movements became unsteady, his groans deeper, more desperate.

“I’m gonna…” he rasped. “I’m—”

You pushed him all the way in just as he came with a choked cry, his body tensing as he released into your mouth. You swallowed everything, not pulling back, letting your tongue gently coax him through the aftershocks. His body finally slumped, spent, his grip on your hair going slack. You stayed there a moment, catching your breath, your lips still around him. Then you slowly pulled back, letting him go with a soft pop. You looked up—lips swollen, eyes dark, breath slightly uneven—and found him staring down at you, chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, still trying to recover. “I knew you were a freak, but… this? Damn.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm as you stood.

But the second you moved, he grabbed your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, smirking. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Nowhere…” you replied, a breathless murmur.

He pulled you down with him, laying back on the bed and dragging you onto his chest, holding you there like he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon. He kissed every inch of your body as he gently laid you down on his bed. His mouth found your breasts, biting and teasing your nipples as if getting revenge for what you’d done to him earlier. Your head tilted back—he hadn’t even gotten to the main part yet, but it was already a lot. You had to admit, he was good. He flipped you both over, switching positions—he was now beneath you, and you were on top. You met his gaze and instantly understood what he wanted. You lowered yourself, settling your core over his lips, and he didn’t waste a second. His tongue and mouth got to work, licking and sucking at your most sensitive parts. Your hands tangled in his curls, holding tight, while his big nose pressed perfectly against your clit. It was too good. Even better when you moved your hips to your own rhythm, hearing him moan underneath you, struggling to catch his breath—but that was on him. He was the one who asked you to sit on his face. If he choked, well, too bad. You didn’t care.

Not that you’d last much longer anyway—it felt way too good.

At one point, you noticed he wasn’t making any sound at all. Just to be sure, you lifted yourself off of him, checking to see if he was still alive and not suffocating beneath you. What a pathetic way to die… or maybe honorable? Dying while giving pleasure to—well, you weren’t his wife, but still. A woman.

“You good?” you asked, a little breathless. “You got quiet for a second.”

“I’m fine. Get back here,” he said—more command than request.

And this time, your hips moved faster. His hands gripped your thighs, anchoring you to him as your hips rocked harder against his mouth. The pressure, the rhythm—it was maddening. You could feel him groan into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He was insatiable, and you were right there with him.

You didn’t care how you looked. Hair messy, breathing ragged, legs trembling—none of it mattered. Not when his tongue was moving like that. Not when your whole body was tightening, coiling, ready to snap.

You cried out his name—louder than you meant to—as your climax hit you like a wave crashing hard and fast. Your body arched, your fingers pulling at his hair, and still, he didn’t stop. Not even when you shuddered above him, gasping for air. He kept going, slower now, teasing you through the aftershocks until you were too sensitive to handle another second.

You finally pulled away, legs shaking as you slid off him, collapsing beside him on the bed. He was grinning—smug, flushed, lips wet.

And now, the real things were beginning. The excitement hadn’t faded—if anything, it had only grown. Every second with him made you want more. He was addictive. Like a high you couldn’t come down from. He gave your ass a light smack.

“On all fours,” he ordered.

You moved into position without hesitation, your breath already catching. The anticipation alone had you soaked. That familiar, maddening ache was back between your thighs—buzzing, pulsing, desperate.

You felt the bed shift as he knelt behind you. Then the head of his cock brushed against your entrance, teasing you, gliding through the wetness. You whimpered, pushing your hips back, silently begging for more. He didn’t need to see your face to know how badly you wanted it—but you could feel the grin pulling at his lips anyway.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, cocky and amused. “You want this so bad, baby?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He chuckled softly—then slammed into you in one sudden, brutal thrust. Normally it would’ve hurt, but you were so ready for him, maybe even too ready. Another cry slipped from your lips, and you cursed yourself for it—you didn’t want to feed his already massive ego. But he groaned too as he sank into you.

It felt too good. Like he was made for you. Every inch of him hit exactly where you needed, the length, the thickness—like it was meant to be. You already knew you wouldn’t last long, no matter how much you wanted this to last all night.

His hands roamed your back, finding a firm hold on your hips before he started to move—slow at first, deep and deliberate, then faster. One hand slid to your neck, steadying himself, grounding you, and somehow making the pleasure sharper, more consuming.

“Say it,” he growled behind you. “Say this is what you wanted. That all your attitude was just you begging for me to shut you up and fuck you properly.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“What? Nothing to say now?” he taunted. “You’re always running that mouth. What happened—did I fuck the words out of you?”

Still, you stayed silent. That only made him smirk. You didn’t need to see it to feel it.

He reached for your mouth, trying to push a finger between your lips. “Say it.”

You didn’t—because instead, you sank your teeth into his finger.

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, yanking his hand away.

You took your chance. With a sudden push, you flipped him over, climbed on top, and straddled him. Now you were in control—even if a part of you missed the way he was handling you seconds ago.

“Piece of shit,” you snapped, gripping his throat with one hand and squeezing.

He barely reacted. “You only managed that because I let you,” he said, calm, amused. “We both know I’m stronger than you.”

He slapped your ass—hard. Your body jerked, and a surprised moan burst from your lips before you could stop it. You glared at him, breath ragged, heart pounding—but your hips had a mind of their own. You rolled them forward, slowly, deliberately, feeling the way he stretched you, filled you. His hands rested on your thighs, just watching you for a moment, hungry eyes. You moved at your own pace, savoring every friction, every sensation that rippled through you. The way his body responded to yours, the way your pleasure stirred his, it was intoxicating.

“You’re riding that dick… so good,” he growled, his grip tightening on your thighs as if anchoring himself.

You rolled your eyes. Luigi, giving you a compliment? That was new. And okay—maybe not the most poetic, but still. Sometimes, in the middle of everything, he'd let little things slip. Baby… You feel so good.

“You’re not used to compliments from men, huh? Your father never said anything nice to you?” he teased, eyes dark, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes again, but this time with a crooked little smile.

“You’re so fucking annoying, you know that?”

“Yes or no?”

“Can we not talk about my family while we’re fucking?”

He nodded, looking a little apologetic. Then he shifted, sitting up, pulling you tighter against him as he thrust up into you. His rhythm picked up. His breathing grew ragged. You felt him twitch inside you—he was close. So close.

“Can I breed you?” he groaned into your neck, voice all heat and desperation.

“What? No.” You gasped between moans, brows furrowed.

He started to pull out, but you locked your legs around him, holding him in place.

“Stay. I’m about to cum… hold it together.”

“Oh fuck… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” You gripped his shoulders, grounding him. You were barely hanging on yourself, your whole body tense, drawn tight like a bowstring.

“Stop looking at me,” he panted. “You’re making it worse.” He looked like he was unraveling. “Can I cum? Please?” he asked, voice cracking, raw and pleading.

“Oh my god—no. Just hold it. I’m right there.”

“You’re so fucking selfish… you little whore.”

“Don’t call me that—you’re seriously making it worse.”

“Shut up.”

Sat up, locked together, still moving. Still trembling. Still chasing that edge. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, breath hot and shaky.

“Yes” you whispered.

The words had barely left your mouth before he came, hard, moaning deep in your neck as he emptied himself inside you. His release triggered yours, like a chain reaction, and your moans tangled in the thick, heavy air between you. It was overwhelming. Perfect. Too much and not enough all at once.

“You’re so good,” he murmured against your skin, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You fell back against the bed, catching your breath, still dazed. He was beautiful. Disgustingly so. Like something carved from marble—his curls messy from your hands, his chest heaving, his eyes half-lidded. He looked unreal with the sweat all over his body, he was all shiny, all of this for you. And it pissed you off. Because he wasn’t just beautiful. He was kind. Gentle. Sharp. Honest. Clever. And you’d never admit any of it—not to him. Not even to yourself.

You hated him. You liked hating him. It was safer that way.

Even if tonight—just tonight—you’d let him in.

He slowly pulled out, and you felt his warmth drip from you, sending one last shiver down your spine. But before you could move, he pushed back in again—slow, deep—like he wasn’t done.

“I’m putting babies in you,” he whispered with a smirk.

“You’re so embarrassing,” you muttered. But the truth? The way he made you feel—that was what really embarrassed you.

“You don’t like it?”

“I don’t mind,” you said.

A lie.

Because you loved it. Luigi collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing down, stealing your breath—but it felt good. He was big, he completely covered you, and somehow, like this, you felt safe. Slowly, your bodies started to calm, the high began to fade.

“Second round?” Luigi asked with a teasing look.

You traced lazy circles on his back, running your fingers over his thick arms, into his curls, down his neck—everywhere, really—while he nuzzled into your collarbone, his breath and kisses tickling your skin.

But then—a knock at the door shattered the moment.

You groaned internally. Who dared interrupt?

Luigi sighed, growling under his breath as he lifted his head.

“You don’t have to answer,” you suggested, praying he’d listen and come back to where he belonged—on you, his head tucked into your neck, wrapped in your arms.

“You’re right,” he agreed.

He was just about to lie back down when a girl’s voice echoed from behind the door.

“Luigi? You in there?”

He shot up immediately, much to your dismay, and scrambled off the bed.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he hissed, yanking on his boxers and pajama pants in record time.

“Who is it?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You better not have a girlfriend, Luigi. You wouldn’t dare, right?”

“Shh, not a sound. You’re not here, okay?”

You fell back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh. What the hell is happening? You’d just assumed you’d have him to yourself at least for the night.

He cracked the door open, just enough so the girl outside couldn’t see inside.

“Hey,” she said casually.

“Hey. What brings you here?”

“Um, I texted before I came over…”

“Oh, didn’t see it. I was… busy,” he replied, glancing back at you quickly.

Who is this girl? And more importantly—why does she have his number? You didn’t even have that.

“I wanted to talk about meeting your parents. Which dress do you think is better?” she asked, showing him pictures of dresses on her phone.

Seriously? She came all the way here for that? Meeting the parents? That sounded… serious. And if it was serious, it probably meant your little fling was over before it had really begun.

“You came over for that?” Luigi raised a brow.

“Yeah, I want to look perfect for them. I mean, they’re your parents. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

You shifted slightly on the bed, making it creak.

“Is someone in your room?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“What? No,” Luigi replied instantly.

Now you had two options: stay quiet and hope she left, or do something to make sure she knew you were there.

Option one? Boring.

Option two? Way more fun.

“Luigi?” you called out across the room, loud and clear.

He spun around, eyes wide, mouthing for you to shut up. He looked completely panicked, which made it even more hilarious.

“Is there someone in there?” she asked again, more suspicious now.

“No, that’s my sister. She’s on FaceTime,” he said quickly.

“Mmh… That didn’t sound like your sister’s voice. And it was way too loud to be coming from a phone,” she replied, not buying it.

She knows his sister? Oh wow. You suddenly felt like you’d walked into something way more complicated than expected.

Then, without warning, she shoved the door open and stepped inside—only to find you sitting at the edge of the bed, quickly yanking the covers over yourself. Of course, you were completely naked.

“Seriously, Luigi? Who is she?”

“She’s just a friend,” he said.

“Well, this has nothing to do with me. I should go. Good luck to both of you,” you say, calmly but firmly, as you start gathering your clothes scattered across the room. The sheet is still wrapped around your body like some fragile shield.

“No. You're staying. You're my guest,” Luigi says, voice steady with just a hint of tension.

You raise an eyebrow. What is he even talking about?

“Look,” he turns to the girl, “we haven’t been together in a long time. I tried getting back with you—several times. But you kept shutting me down. I think I’m allowed to move on.”

“But I was finally ready. You didn’t try hard enough,” she snaps back, furious.

“Please don’t do this. I tried more than once, and every single time, it was the same wall. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Then fine. I’m not coming tomorrow,” she huffs, arms crossed like a final strike.

You glance at Luigi. Is this meeting really that important?

“But I already told my parents you were coming. They’re looking forward to it.”

“I don’t care. It’s over,” she says before walking out, slamming the door behind her.

Luigi exhales deeply and turns back to you.

“Wow. You really suck,” you mutter, half-teasing, half-exhausted.

“She just wanted to keep me around as a backup. It took me five failed attempts to realize it.”

He sinks down beside you on the bed and throws you a playful look. “You ruined everything… like always.”

“You did that all by yourself.”

“Okay, okay, fair. I just wanted to blame someone else for once,” he says with a soft grin, running a hand through your hair. Then, his tone shifts, quieter now. “It’s just… I talked about her to my parents so many times. They were really excited to meet her. Back then, anyway. I didn’t want to let them down, so I invited her. But yeah, it was a dumb move.”

“It’s never a good idea to chase someone who’s already made up their mind,” you reply, stretching out on the bed and patting the spot next to you.

Luigi lies down facing you. His eyes search yours, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s oddly intimate. You eventually look away, just as his phone vibrates on the nightstand.

“Probably my mom,” he mumbles, grabbing it.

It is. He reads her message, then sighs.

“She’s so hyped to meet my ‘girlfriend’, I don’t even know how to tell her she’s not coming anymore.”

“Maybe talk to your ex—maybe she’ll reconsider.”

“She won’t. Especially not after seeing you.” He pauses, then smirks at you. “Actually… I’ve got an idea. What if you came instead?”

“What? No way. I’m terrible with parents. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Oh, come on. This is in part your fault. You completely distracted me and now I’ve got no one to bring. You owe me.”

“My fault?” you laugh. “I didn’t forced you. And let’s not forget—we don’t even like each other.”

“Just once. Be my fake girlfriend for one night. And in return, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes. Within legal limits, of course.”

“…Fine. When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.”

“Alright.”

You get up and start dressing, gathering your things again. But Luigi catches your arm gently.

“You’re not staying?”

“Nope. I need to get ready for your big parent trap tomorrow.”

“Come on, just one last kiss,” he says, looking up at you with his best sad-puppy eyes.

“Nice try. We’re not a couple, Luigi.”

“We’re just practicing for later”

“No kiss”

Reluctantly, he lets go. You get dressed quickly, and head for the door.

•• D-Day •••

You were ready. You had slipped into one of your nicest dresses—elegant but understated. Your makeup was simple, just like you always wore it, and you’d curled your hair into soft waves. You didn’t feel particularly nervous. After all, it wasn’t really your in-laws you were about to meet, and you weren’t in a real relationship. You had no one to impress, so you decided to just be yourself.

A knock at the door.

You opened it to find Luigi standing there.

“Wow… you look stunning.”

“Thanks… you’re not so bad yourself.”

He had dressed up in a smart little suit, a light blue shirt, and a violet tie. He looked charming—like the ideal son-in-law. It was almost suspicious.

“Shall we?”

He offered his arm with a warm smile. You looped yours through his, and the two of you headed to his car.

“So… what’s our story?” you asked as he started driving.

“Just be yourself,” he replied easily.

“And if someone asks me stuff about you? I barely know anything about your life. All I know is that you’re kind of an idiot.”

He chuckled, eyes on the road. “Well, my favorite color is blue. I love video games, traveling, hiking, and reading. That’s all you really need to know.”

He glanced your way. “What about you?”

“My favorite color is orange. I’m into movies, love hiking too, and I listen to a lot of music,” you said, listing the basics.

He put on some music, and the drive continued in comfortable silence. Eventually, you pulled into a quiet, upscale neighborhood lined with stunning homes.

“Whoa… your house is huge.”

He nodded, visibly a little awkward. You hadn’t expected this. You knew he was well-off, but this was another level.

“Ready?”

“Too late to run?” you muttered.

“You’ll be fine.”

You stepped inside, and it was instantly overwhelming. The house was packed with people—laughter, conversation, children screaming in the background.

“Okay, your family is huge. I thought it was just gonna be your parents.”

“Welcome to the Mangione family,” he said with a smirk. “We’re Italian. We don’t do ‘small gatherings.’”

“You tricked me, you sneaky bastard.”

He grinned. “I told you you’d meet my parents. I just might’ve skipped a few... logistical details.”

“Luigi! You’re finally here!” a woman’s voice called out.

His mother rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug. His father followed right behind.

“Hi sweetheart. And you must be Bianca! It’s so lovely to meet you!”

“Actually, it’s Y/n,” you corrected gently.

His mother froze, clearly caught off guard. You shot a subtle glare at Luigi.

“Luigi must’ve given you my full name. Everyone close to me just calls me Y/n.”

“Oh! Right—of course! So sorry about that,” she said quickly before pulling you into a warm, affectionate hug.

His father, more formal, gave you a firm handshake and a respectful nod. “Welcome.”

May the act begin.

The living room was buzzing with chatter, clinking glasses, and bursts of laughter. You could barely keep track of all the introductions—uncles, aunts, cousins, second cousins, grandparents, people who seemed only vaguely related but were welcomed like blood.

At first, you stuck close to Luigi’s side like a quiet shadow, offering polite smiles and nods, but you slowly warmed up. His family was surprisingly welcoming. One of his aunts complimented your dress, another asked about your job, and a cousin asked if you liked tiramisu before dragging you to the dessert table.

You played along, smiling, answering, even asking a few questions back.

A pair of twin boys, no older than six, were zooming around with toy airplanes, nearly colliding into furniture. One of them tripped and fell right at your feet, letting out a frustrated groan. You bent down to help him up and, without thinking, made a whooshing airplane noise that sent both kids into a fit of laughter.

Moments later, you were on the floor with them, flying invisible jets and dramatically crashing them into pillows. Luigi watched from across the room, amused, arms crossed and an endearing smirk tugging at his lips.

"You’re surprisingly good with kids," he said as he walked over.

"That’s because I am one," you shot back, brushing imaginary dust off your dress. He puts his hand on your hips.

“Fair.”

Then someone called out from the dining room: “Alright, time for the family game!”

Everyone shuffled into the large room where a game of charades was already being set up. You and Luigi exchanged a quick look—half dread, half challenge.

“Wanna team up?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re going down.”

You were put on Team Mangione A—alongside Luigi, one of his younger cousins, and his aunt with the world’s most aggressive poker face.

The game was chaotic. People shouted ridiculous guesses, exaggerated movements filled the room, and someone kept snorting every time they laughed. When it was your turn, you mimed “Titanic” with such dramatic flair that Luigi burst out laughing mid-guess. When it was his turn, he attempted “The Godfather” with a horrible accent and somehow still managed to get it right.

You were in sync. Every round, you guessed each other’s clues within seconds, communicating with just a look or a barely-there gesture.

In the final round, it was between your team and another, and it all came down to you. You drew the last word, looked at Luigi, and started acting.

“Rollercoaster,” he shouted instantly. “Haunted house? Spider… explosion? Fireworks!”

“Yes!” you cheered, pointing at him as the room erupted in noise.

Your team had won.

Everyone clapped and whistled, and someone passed out slices of cake in celebration. You flopped down onto the couch beside Luigi. He leaned in a little, voice dropping low enough that only you could hear, a smug grin on his face. “Can I kiss you?”

You looked back at Luigi. “We can’t,” you whispered, trying to suppress a smile. “Not in front of your whole family.”

It wasn’t long, just a soft, quick press of his lips against yours—but it made your breath catch anyway. Warmth bloomed in your chest.

When you pulled away, the room had gone suspiciously quiet for half a second—just long enough.

“Oooooh!” one of the cousins howled.

“The lovebirds strike again!” another shouted from the armchair.

“Somebody get them a balcony already!” an aunt cackled, raising her glass.

You buried your face in your hands, laughing. Luigi just leaned back casually, looking smug as ever.

You were all chatting casually over appetizers. The conversation turned, naturally, to food.

"Do you cook, Y/n?" asked the nonna pouring herself another glass of sparkling water.

"A little," you replied. "But I’m more of a dessert person. I love trying new recipes."

Luigi’s cousin perked up. "What’s the craziest best you’ve ever tasted?"

You smiled, thinking back. "Okay, don’t judge me — but once, I had a kinder bueno tiramisu."

Suddenly, the room fell silent. Forks froze mid-air. Luigi slowly turned to you, eyes wide.

"A… Kinder… tiramisu?" he repeated, like you had just insulted his grandmother.

"Yeah," you said, blinking innocently. "It was actually really good—"

"Madonna mia," someone whispered across the table.

His aunt clutched her chest dramatically. "Che sacrilegio!"

One of the uncles shook his head like he was grieving. "They ruin everything these days…"

Luigi covered his face with both hands. "Y/n, why would you say that here ?"

"I didn’t know this was a sacred topic!" you said, laughing nervously. "I mean… it still had mascarpone!"

"That’s not enough!" his nonna cried from across the room. "You don’t mess with tradition!"

By now, everyone was laughing — half in horror, half in amusement — and you felt yourself relax. Even if you were an outsider, at least you were now part of the joke.

Luigi leaned in close, his voice low and amused as he whispered in your ear, “You just committed culinary blasphemy in front of three generations of Italians.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

“Oh, it is,” he said with mock solemnity. “You just lost Nonna’s blessing.”

You gasped dramatically. “Then I better go make things right.”

He watched with a grin as you stood and made your way over to his grandmother. From across the room, he saw you speaking with animated hands, full of charm, while she listened intently. A beat later, she broke into a warm smile, pulled you into a hug, and kissed both your cheeks.

Luigi laughed softly to himself. Of course she forgave you.

You walked back toward him, head high, a triumphant glint in your eye.

“She forgave me,” you announced, grinning.

He leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed, trying not to smile too hard. “You charmed my Nonna. That’s dangerously powerful.”

“She said I had good manners. And taste — except in tiramisu.”

He laugh and put his hand on your hips.

A flicker of guilt tugged at you. Pretending in front of people who had welcomed you so warmly—it didn’t sit right. Maybe that’s why you weren’t letting yourself relax completely. You knew, sooner or later, this would all come to an end.

You slipped away to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, needing a moment to yourself. Luigi followed without saying a word. When you stepped into the room, his father was already there, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re not joining the game, Dad?” Luigi asked, pulling a chilled bottle of water from the fridge. He grabbed a glass, filled it, and set it in front of you with a small smile.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

His father chuckled. “Your old man’s too ancient for that kind of chaos.”

“Oh, come on,” Luigi teased. “You’re just scared you’ll lose. Admit it.”

Luigi’s father gave a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he sipped his glass of wine. Then he looked at you, his tone softening.

“And you? You like games like that?”

You paused, fingers curling around the cool glass in front of you.

“I do,” you said slowly. “I used to play all kinds of silly games with my dad when I was little.”

There was a pause, the kind that feels like a breath held in the air.

“But… he passed away when I was twelve,” you added, your voice quieter now, steady but tinged with something deeper. “If I could play just one more game with him… I wouldn’t think twice.”

Luigi glanced at you, something tender flashing in his eyes.

His father was quiet for a moment, then straightened up and gave a small nod.

“Well,” he said, setting down his cup, “guess I better not waste the games I still can play.”

He gave you a gentle smile, then patted Luigi on the shoulder. “Let’s go. Before your aunt claims she’s undefeated.”

You smiled softly as he walked out of the kitchen, a little faster than before.

Luigi looked at you, voice low. “I’m so sorry”

You gave a half-shrug, blinking back the emotion that had snuck up on you. “Just telling the truth.”

He didn’t say anything right away—just reached out and gave your hand a quick, quiet squeeze.

He takes your hand and leads you into a room, quiet and empty. The moment you step through the door, recognition hits you — it’s his teenage bedroom.

"My old room," Luigi says, eyes gleaming with nostalgia. "What do you think?"

"I think… I would’ve been so jealous of you if we’d been friends back then. Oh my God — is that a GameCube? That’s insane. You really are the nerd I thought you were."

Luigi bursts out laughing.

"What was your favorite game?" He ask, curious.

"Mario Kart — the classic version. I used to play it at the mall, in the electronics section. What about you?"

"Wait, seriously? At the mall? Man... Zelda. Nothing beats Zelda."

"Yeah, we couldn’t afford one at home. So every time we went shopping, I’d spend hours in that aisle, just playing. You probably wouldn’t get that — you must’ve been rich, rich, rich."

You sit down on the bed, your eyes drifting to the bookshelf, packed with novels and games. You look at his photos with his family. And then, without warning, tears well up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey," Luigi rushes over, dropping to his knees in front of you. "What’s wrong? Why are you crying?"

"It’s just… your family is so kind…"

"Hey, don’t cry. Come on, dry those tears. You’ll see them again soon, I promise. I want to see you smile, okay?"

You wipe your cheeks, and he pulls you into a warm embrace, leaving a trail of gentle kisses in your hair.

"I’m sorry about yesterday... when I brought up your dad. I didn’t know—"

"You didn’t know," you say softly, cutting him off. "It’s okay. I forgive you."

“I’ll walk you home,” Luigi offered.

You nodded, and both of you stood. Without a word, he took your hand. It caught you off guard, but you didn’t pull away. As you made your way through the house, you said your goodbyes—his mom wrapped you in one last warm hug and handed you a big container of food. His dad gave you a quiet, reassuring look.

Then you stepped outside together.

The drive back was quiet, peaceful. His playlist played softly in the background, filling the silence just enough. Neither of you needed to speak.

When you reached your place, he pulled up to the curb and turned to you.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, smiling gently. “Tonight was amazing. You were amazing.”

You smiled back. “I really loved it. Your family’s incredible—so genuine, so grounded. Time just flew by. Thank you.”

He gave a small nod, eyes lingering on you for a beat, then walked you to your door.

That was how the night ended.

•• Weeks later ••

Luigi got back together with his ex.

And you—quietly, completely—chose to never speak to him again.

As if none of it had ever happened.

Tags : @bean-is-reading @iinfinitelimits