#i was yn for real for real

[idontgotopartiesanymore]

who needs ao3 when i just dreamt a full on romance novel

[drakestoes]

shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew shirtless drew

[mrsmangi]

found - luigi mangione

♡ summary: luigi spends his nights haunted by dreams of you—vivid, tender, and impossibly real. each morning, he wakes with the ache of losing you, over and over, with no foreseeable end. how much more can he take? ♡ w.c.: 6.3k ♡ a/n: hi. this is a continuation of my fic, past life. it was absolutely devastating to write, but i will post this with pictures of luigi in his red sweater (again) to make myself feel better because it's my favorite outfit of his thus far. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ trigger warnings: this work contains themes of depression, grief, and suggestive content. please proceed with care.

—

The soft click of the apartment door echoes in the stillness as Luigi steps inside, his hand lingering on the cold metal doorknob for support. The familiar scent of perfume drifts toward him, engulfing him in a warmth that feels too good to be true. He pauses, a faint flicker of awareness settling in his mind. 

Luigi is dreaming, again–he knows it. The clarity of the moment, the way every detail feels sharper than reality feels unmistakable, but he knows this isn’t his world. 

These dreams had become more frequent since the first–when he had met you. He felt each of them pulling him into this world, further and further down the rabbit hole, where you waited for him. Although he was beginning to become acquainted with it–his abnormal awareness in his dreams–, it never stopped feeling strange to him. It was as though he continuously existed in two places at once: as the man in his dreams, showered with intimacy from his lover, and the man outside of it, alone. 

He is unsettled. Not just by the vividness of his illusions, but how natural it all feels, as if this version of his life is just as real as the one he always returns to in the morning. The longer Luigi stands, the harder it is to ignore the whispers of longing plaguing the back of his mind. Despite knowing it isn’t real, he can’t help but wish it were. 

So, he chooses to stand and take it all in. It feels like home. 

That’s when he sees it. 

Streamers criss-cross on the ceiling in haphazard lines. Balloons floating lazily in corners of the living room. Taped to the wall in large, uneven letters is a banner that reads: “WELCOME HOME, LUIGI! ♡” Glittery, colorful, slightly crooked letters–but perfect. He blinks, heart dropping to his stomach. An overwhelming sensation; one that pleasantly surprises him. 

You stand in the center of it all, clutching a poster board almost as tall as you, the word “HI” scrawled across it in colorful marker and uneven glitter glue. Your grin (that beautiful grin he just adores) stretches wide. You are sunshine personified, he realizes fondly, a dazzling beam of joy. You only grow brighter the moment your eyes lock. 

Immediately, you burst into laughter, poster board slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor as you sprint toward him. 

“Luigi!” you call out, voice bursting with excitement and relief. 

Before he can react, you crash into him, arms wrapping gently around his waist. He stumbles slightly, caught off guard, body stiff and protesting the sudden movement. He doesn’t care. Dropping his bag to the floor, he folds himself around you, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair. The warmth of your body against his is almost enough to make him forget the ache in his back and the heaviness of his legs. 

Your lips find his in a kiss so tender, he thinks his knees might buckle from beneath him. For a moment, Luigi feels no pain. The accident never happened and he was never escorted to the hospital, or bedridden for over a week. There’s just you, soft and warm and impossibly close. He leans into you, hands curving around your waist, melting into place. 

When you finally pull away, your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you study him. “Hi,” you whisper cheekily. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“I missed you so much,” you sigh. “You have no idea.”

Luigi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. His chest swells with gratitude. “I missed you more,” he confesses softly. Luigi knows this won’t last. It never does. 

The welcome banner, the streamers, your smile–none of it will follow him when he wakes. He’ll wake up, alone in a bed half empty because you won’t be there. But even knowing all of it, Luigi lets himself savor every moment he has with you, holding onto you like a lifeline. 

He will let himself believe it’s real, even if it’s just for a fraction of a second. The pain in his spine becomes more pronounced, and he can’t tell if it’s just because he’s post-recovery or because he knows this is only temporary, especially when he wants it to be permanent so desperately. 

“Are you still with me?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He snaps out of it, looking down at you as you smile up at him, teasingly. You always seem to know when his mind begins to wander. You are so patient. He likes that about you. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking,” he pauses, arms still hooked around your waist. He looks over the room once more. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble just for me.” 

“Don’t be silly. It wasn’t any trouble and even if it was, yes, I did,” you say. “You’ve been stuck in bed for over a week in that awful hospital room. I just couldn’t wait for you to come home. I wanted so badly to remind you how loved you are.” 

Luigi swallows hard. There’s a lump in his throat that makes it impossible to speak. Instead, he tightens his hold on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You only laugh and run your fingers through his curls. For however long it lasts, he wants to lose himself in you. Pretend this fleeting world of light and warmth and all things good will last forever. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs into your skin, quietly.

“Stop that,” you scold gently, pulling back to meet his eyes. “You deserve everything, Luigi. I’m just getting started.” 

You take his hand and lead him to the couch, guiding him to sit down. He winces slightly as he lowers himself onto the cushions, a strain in his back reminding him of his limitations. You notice in an instant, as perceptive as always. Your hands flutter over him as though you could soothe his pain with sheer willpower. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, worry etched into your features. “How is your back? Do you need a pillow? A hot pad? Water? Anything?” 

He chuckles despite himself, shaking his head. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, although the throbbing of his spine indicates otherwise. “Better now that I’m home. With you.” 

You kneel between his legs, resting your hands lightly on his knees as you tilt your head up to look at him. “Bedridden for over a week and still handsome as ever,” you tease. The tone of your voice is playful, but there’s something in your expression that feels darker. He releases a shaky breath, clearing his throat subtly. 

“Talent,” he replies dryly, a small smirk curving across his lips. 

You laugh. It sends a pang of languish straight to his heart. It hasn’t hit him just how much he’s missed hearing that sound until now. It’s only been a few days since the last dream, but to him, it’s felt like years. 

“Seriously, though,” you say, eyes softening. “How are you really feeling?” 

He hesitates, smile faltering. “I’m getting there,” he admits. “It’s still difficult. The pain isn’t great, and I’m not exactly thrilled about having to take it easy for who knows how long. But���” He gazes at you, then around the room. All the effort you had put into making this moment as special as possible. All for him. “Coming home to this? To you? It helps so much more than you know.” 

His heart skips three beats at once when you grin, leaning forward and resting your cheek against his knee. “Good,” you say gently. “I’m so excited to have you home. It’s so boring without you.” 

He breathes out another laugh, but before he can reply, your hands slide upward. Your fingertips trace the pattern of his jeans–slowly, deliberately. He feels his breath hitch as you gently pry his legs apart, movements unhurried but undeniably calculated. There’s a lustful glint in your eye that sends a jolt of heat through him. He doesn’t find it in himself to look away, entranced by your movements. 

“You’re stuck with me now,” you whisper, kissing the inside of his lower thigh gently. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

Luigi’s breathing becomes heavier as you work your way up his thigh, and he opens his mouth to reply, but the words never come.  

—

When he awakes, Luigi stirs in discomfort. His eyelids feel heavy as they open slowly. The emptiness of his apartment hits him like a tsunami. The silence washes over his body, drowning him. His legs feel sore, his chest throbbing as he lays motionless, staring at the ceiling.

He rubs a hand over his face, as if he could chase away the remnants of the dream, but it’s done in vain. He knows he couldn’t erase you from his mind, even if he tried.

“Are you even real?” he wonders aloud, eyes boring into the plain paper of the ceiling above. 

When no one answers, he sighs. He sits up and the pain returns. In his head, in his back, in his stomach, and within his heart. His mind feels foggy. 

It’s not just the dream that haunts him, but the life within it: the life where you exist, where he isn’t so fucking miserable and alone. 

The day unfolds sluggishly, each hour stretching longer than the last. Reluctantly, Luigi forces himself out of bed, his body protesting every movement. He spends the morning shuffling through small, mindless tasks–folding laundry he forgot to put away, wiping down the counters in his kitchen, and clearing the clutter off his nightstand. All things that should distract him, but in reality, it does little to lift the weight pressing down on his chest. 

Even as his apartment is neater and cleaner, he feels no real sense of accomplishment nor satisfaction, only a quiet, gnawing emptiness eating away at his being. His thoughts always seem to drift back to you. 

By midday, he stares blankly at his computer screen, shuffling through emails he has no intention of answering. A notification from a friend briefly catches his eye, but he hesitates to respond. What could he even say? There’s nothing to say, he tells himself. The words feel distant, unreachable. Instead, he closes the laptop and sits in silence. 

The hum of the fridge in the next room is the only sound that breaks the stillness. When his stomach eventually growls, he throws together a half-assed sandwich, eating it mechanically while staring at the muted television. The show he puts on–once a comedy that made him laugh–fails to hold his attention. The afternoon drags on. Luigi drifts from task to task with no real purpose, his movement more on autopilot than anything else. He tries to focus on a book he’s been meaning to finish, but the words blur together on the page. 

“Fuck off,” he groans, setting it aside and leaning back into the couch he sits on. The ceiling stares back at him. 

The evening settles in. He makes another half-hearted attempt at cooking dinner, though the plate ends up sitting untouched on the counter. The hours stretch endlessly, and all he can think about is how desperately he wants for the day to end. He misses you. 

He needs you. 

He needs to feel tethered to something real, even if it’s only fleeting. 

Luigi’s eyes drift to close, the corners of the room growing hazy and darkening as he dozes off.

—

“You don’t have to push me away, Luigi.” 

Something is different about this dream, Luigi notices. He can hear it in the way you say his name: unbearably frustrated, but somehow still gentle. He feels it in the strange sense of detachment that ties him to his spot before you. Although he knows this is just a dream–just another insufferably short dream–, the words manage to make him flinch, as if he’s a match struck against sandpaper. There’s a fire catching in his heart before he has the chance to smother it, and the flame is your voice.

His body reacts before he even has the chance to register that it’s your voice. He feels like a passenger in his own skin when it hits him: he’s not in control. 

He feels his hands curl into fists at his sides, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. There’s a familiar tightness in his back sending sharp, burning pulses of discomfort through his body down to his legs, one he can’t simply ignore, but it seems painless in comparison to the throbbing of his stomach.

Are you two fighting? He doesn’t want to fight. 

“I–” Luigi begins, but the words get caught in his throat, trapped by the weight of his shame as he gazes at your confused expression. He can’t look at you like this, so he doesn’t. He shifts his gaze away. 

“You’re shutting me out again,” you say. Your voice is steady, but he hears the tinge of pain it carries. It’s familiar, it’s recognizable; a pain similar to his own. “I know you’re hurting. I know this feels absolutely frustrating and impossible to overcome, but do you really think I would leave you because of something like this?” 

He hears himself release a sharp, harsh breath, turning his face away as his jaw tightens. He runs a hand over his mouth before holding his head in both hands. “It’s not as simple as that,” he hears his voice mutter. There’s a bitterness in his tone that he can see startles you from his peripheral vision. It startles him, too. He pretends it doesn’t bother him. He sees the flicker of hurt in your expression; he wants to reach for you, to tell you that he’s not in his right mind, but his hands remain motionless. He keeps talking. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then help me get it,” you urge him, stepping closer to him. 

He’s sitting on the couch. You kneel before him and take the hands that carry his head into your own. 

“Luigi,” you breathe, eyes scanning his face for a sign of understanding. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Please, let me be here for you. I want to stay.” 

He can’t look at you. He trains his eyes to burn holes into the carpet rug of the apartment floor.

There’s a numbness that he feels settling in, brushing against the nape of his neck, crawling its way down his chest and curling upward to his temples. His heart churns and twists beneath his skin. He’s caught between his desire to let you in–let you hug him, console him, reassure him–and the fear of his inescapable reality: he will drag you down with him if he allows you to remain with him any longer. 

I don’t want to hurt you, he thinks. The words you hear instead are: “You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice is low, tremors racking his throat. “You have no idea what it feels like to wake up, knowing I can’t be everything that you deserve.” 

“Luigi,” you plead. “Luigi, you are everything to me.” 

“You say that now,” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head, “but what happens when it’s too much?” He finally looks up at you. He feels the word vomit creeping up his throat. This doesn’t feel like him. He can sense it–he’s about to say something he’s going to regret, but he can’t help himself. You need to know. 

“I can’t do the things I used to,” he says as a matter of fact. “I’m 24-years-old. I’ve barely lived. I can’t surf or hike or go to the gym like I did before. I can’t even fucking sit for too long without feeling like my spine might shatter. It seems like every single, miniscule movement I make fucks with the way my entire body feels. My friends are getting sick of hearing how depressed I feel–” He pauses, making eye contact with your broken gaze before continuing. “And you,” he breathes, watching your nostrils flare as tears well in your eyes. “You’ve been so fucking patient with me, baby. You’ve been so damn good, and you know, I can’t even fucking make love to you,” he hears his voice crack. He sees your eyes glint with indignance and he knows you’ll attempt to protest. He continues. 

“Do you know what that’s like? To look at you and not be able to give you that part of me anymore.” His hands twitch on his lap, fists clenching and loosening.

Luigi sits in horror of himself. He wants to take the words back, to silence the voice coming from his mouth, but he can’t do anything but watch. It’s torture. Can’t he just shut up? 

No, he can’t. The person in charge of his body keeps going.

“It might be a stupid thing to be worried about, but I know I can’t pleasure you like I used to. You can sit here and deny it all you want, but you and I both know ever since that stupid, fucking accident happened, everything has been different and it’s not just about the sex. You drop everything for me to go to doctor’s appointments, pick up my prescriptions, you don’t go out with your friends or see your family anymore. I mean, for fuck’s sake, baby,” he places emphasis on your name, tearing his hands out of yours to grasp your face. 

His thumbs brush your cheekbones, holding your face as if it was made of porcelain. They wipe away your tears. Tears he’s responsible for prying out of you. Luigi has never hated himself more. 

“Your whole life has been placed on hold for me,” he whispers. “You’ve given up so much. How am I supposed to live with myself knowing that? I’m a burden to you.” 

You’re staring up at him, helpless. He knows the words hang in the air, igniting an overwhelming silence to suffocate the two of you. The thought that he’s pushed you too far, teetered your state of being over the edge, crosses his mind. He desperately hopes that isn’t the case. 

As your tear-filled stare searches his face, he has a feeling it isn’t, but there’s something unreadable in your expression. There are hints of perplexion, hurt, and confusion, but something else. Something healing: tender, unrelenting love. 

Slowly, you reach up and he feels your small hands over his own where they hold your face. 

“Luigi, I love you,” you say softly, “I love you so much. That’s why I’m here, not out of obligation. You could never be a burden to me, Luigi. You never have been and never will be.” 

He feels his hands falter, dropping from your face as his shoulders sag. I believe you, he wants to scream out. His body won’t allow him to. There’s doubt that lingers in the back of his mind–doubt he refuses to claim as his own. 

For a moment, Luigi thinks his body will finally relent. That, by some kind of miracle, he’ll collapse into you and let the heat of your body consume his own. But instead, he feels himself pull away from you. His hands fall completely, weight shifting as he pushes himself up from the couch. His legs feel as heavy as ever, but they move him away anyway, carrying him to the door. 

“What are you doing?” he hears your voice rise, panicked. “Luigi–where are you going? Please, let’s talk about this.” 

He hears the steps of your feet against the cold, wood floor, the quick catch in your breath as you follow after him. 

Stop, Luigi pleads. Turn around. Don’t do this.

When Luigi realizes he doesn’t, a scream builds in his chest, desperate to escape. He feels his jaw tighten, shoulders tense, and his steps are automatic. Then, you do something that makes him falter–you throw your arms around him, wrapping yourself tightly against his back. Your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt to anchor yourself to him, refusing to let go.

He freezes as he feels the warmth of your body pressed to his, your trembling breath against his shoulder. 

“Please,” you beg, voice raw and breaking. “Don’t do this.” 

He feels it then: a tender, desperate kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. The warmth of it burns through the layers of fabric resting on his back, searing into his skin like a brand. Your lips linger there, trembling, and it feels as though you’re willing him to stay. He feels every ounce of love and hope that you’ve poured into a single touch. 

This is what you want, he hears his own voice urging him to accept it. To stay. This is what you need. Don’t let her go. He feels nauseated when his hands reach down and pry yours from his torso. His movements are gentle but firm. To Luigi, it feels like the cruelest betrayal. He’s a prisoner in his own skin. 

“I can’t make you happy anymore, (Name).” Your name rolls off his tongue without him even having to think about it. Luigi can feel defeat ruminating in his soul, causing him to tremble. He finally knows your name and it’s come to him in the worst way possible. It’s wrong, it’s unfair. He can do absolutely nothing to console you or wipe away the tears that continue to spill from your cheeks because his asshole body won’t let him. His voice sounds muffled, distorted and distant, yet unmistakably his own. The words spill out like they belong to someone else. He doesn’t recognize himself. “This isn’t the life you deserve.” 

He steps forward, heading for the door, slipping out of your grasp completely. He misses your warmth already. Your arms fall to your sides. He feels a sense of relief that isn’t his own wash over him when you don’t move to follow him, but an overwhelming sense of grief overcomes him.

“Luigi,” he hears you call out to him. 

Stop.

His legs halt with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t dare to look back.

“I’ve never cared about having a perfect life,” he hears you say, voice mirroring his own defeat. “Ever since I met you, I,” you pause to release a shaky breath, voice cracking with each syllable you verbalize. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.” 

Luigi’s heart plummets, the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest. 

Luigi has never loved anyone the way he has learned to love you. It was ridiculous of him to believe he could love someone the way he loves you–relentlessly, unconditionally, and all-consuming–without consequence.

The phrase still punctures him right to the core, like a knife being plunged into him, over and over. The tremble in your voice, your unmistakable sincerity, cuts him deeper than any pain he’s ever known. All Luigi truly wants to do is turn around. 

To fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness, to tell you you’re everything he’s never known that he’s always wanted. 

But his fingers only tighten around the doorknob, legs trembling as they continue to push him forward. Slowly, he pulls the door open. The hinges creak softly, the sound piercing through your shared silence. 

Once he steps into the threshold, the warmth of the room behind him–your warmth–slips away, right between his fingers. The cool air of the hallway bites at his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the chill in his chest. He feels himself hesitate, shoulders falling under the heaviness of it all. 

Say something. Anything. He screams at himself, but his lips remain shut. 

He closes the door behind him. When the latch clicks gently, its sound feels deafening. A symbol of the finality of his choice. He only stands for a moment, just as he did before, when the warmth of your love came over his body. He ruminates in the cold. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding when the stifled sound of your muffled sobs bleeds through the wood of the door behind him. 

He nearly breaks, right then and there. Nearly. 

He turns and wills himself to walk down the hallway, each of his steps feeling heavier than the last. The fluorescent lights above cast long, harsh shadows upon him, but he pays them no mind. He ignores his vision blurring, head spinning with grief, helplessness, and anger. Your words only ring in his ears, growing louder with every echo of his heels. 

All I’ve ever wanted is you.

It becomes a chant in his head–a mantra playing on a constant, never ending loop in his mind. Everything else becomes drowned out. He feels his fist clench at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms as if the pain might awake him. It doesn’t. He reaches the elevator, feet dragging. He presses the button, the weak ding of the elevator arriving and pulling him from his haze. 

The doors slide open, he steps inside. The metallic chill of the space envelops him. The light of the elevator reflects off its stainless steel walls, making him feel small. 

He reaches for the button for his floor but hesitates, hand overing over the button, mid-air. 

Don’t.

He does anyway. He presses it with the sharp exhale through his nose. 

Just before the doors slide shut, Luigi feels his legs finally give out, and he leans against the wall. His head falls back as he stares up at the metal ceiling. His chest heaves, breathing uneven, legs numb, vision blurring even further. 

All I’ve ever wanted is you. 

It begins before he processes what happens. The tears fall from his eyes quicker than he can manage to wipe them away. Luigi heaves a gut-wrenching sob as the pain in his chest blooms. His body shakes with the force of his anguish, raw and irrepressible. 

As the elevator doors close with a dull thud, he’s finally able to scream. 

The dream shatters.

—

When Luigi wakes, the tears are already falling, hot and heavy against his cheeks, flooding his ears. His chest wracks his being with silent sobs. His fingers brush against his damp face as if trying to wipe away the echoes of your voice and leave them behind him. But it doesn’t leave him. He has a feeling it never will. 

He lays there for what feels like hours, unmoving. He feels like a corpse. 

It takes him longer than he would like to admit to realize something is missing. The realization doesn’t hit him until later that evening, when he’s standing under the steady hot stream of the shower. The water pelts his skin, but does nothing to soothe the ache of his entire body. He runs a hand through his curly, wet locks. He tries to scrub away the fog in his mind, scrub you away, but it’s no use. The fog and the memory of you cling to him like a second skin. 

He steps out of the shower, towel tied loosely around his waist, he stops in front of the mirror. The steam blurs his reflection, so he wipes away the condensation of the mirror when something catches his eye in its reflection. In another mirror behind him, there’s the trace of a mole on his back, faint. 

A mole on his back, in the exact same place you had kissed in his dream. He freezes as the fragments of the dream rush back to him. 

The name–your name. It was there, in that horrendous God-awful dream, vivid and sharp. It echoed in his mind just moments ago. Now, it’s slipped away from him, gone as quickly as it came. It’s there, on the tip of his tongue, he can feel it but he just can’t remember. The harder he tries to hold on to it, the faster it disappears and fades farther away. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the glass of his mirror, and exhales shakily. 

You were gone.

After that, so were the dreams. 

Days without dreams blurred into weeks. The dreams that had once been a cruel comfort had abandoned him entirely. The rest of his life drags on in a haze of monotony, each day more dreary than the last. He wakes up, gets himself out of the house, comes home, and repeats the cycle. 

There’s an emptiness gnawing at him from the inside out. 

The flowers of the corner stand he passes when he leaves the house used to catch his eye–the bright daffodils and carnations bursting with life–but now, they’re dull. The colors of their petals muted by the overcast sky of New York. Luigi finds himself stopping to stare at times, hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He gazes at them as if they will remind him of something, anything. They don’t. 

When the silence of his apartment is insufferable, Luigi goes out to eat instead of cooking at home. Yet, every coffee he orders tastes bitter, no matter how much sugar he adds, and every piece of food he shoves into his mouth leaves a bland aftertaste in his mouth. 

Occasionally, his friends text or call, asking him to meet up. He finds himself declining more often than not. It’s not that he doesn’t care, really, it’s not. It’s simply because he can’t find the energy to fake being “okay.” On the rare instance that he does go, however, he finds that their laughter and lighthearted conversations–that should be comforting–feel static in his ears. So, he sits silently, nursing a drink he can’t muster the willpower to finish.

He takes midnight strolls to avoid resting, wandering the city aimlessly. He lets the cold air penetrate his skin as he searches for something he can’t name. Perhaps a purpose, maybe a sign, an indicator of your presence. Anything to fill the empty pit in his stomach that has grown every day since you’ve been gone. It all feels so futile.

 When Luigi is home, the clock ticks loudly. The hum of the fridge grates on his nerves. The TV drowns out his silence, but the dialogue of the shows he plays are nothing but meaningless background noise. 

The ache in his chest persists.

—

Months pass before Luigi begins to convince himself he is moving on. Slowly, reluctantly, but moving on nonetheless. The dreams never returned, and with them, the constant emptiness in his gut that made him feel hollow. The name–the one he couldn’t bring himself to remember–had grown quieter in his mind.

His days filled with monotonous routines ground him. Errands, nights out with friends, light exercise, reading helps him from thinking about you for too long. He’s forced himself to return texts more regularly, forcing himself to engage. 

He tells himself it’s progress. That he’s healing, maybe even healed completely. Deep down, he knows better. 

The ache hasn’t disappeared, but he’s learned to live with it. It’s only buried itself deeper, settling into a quiet part of his mind he tries not to pay any mind to. Though, it sometimes resurfaces in unexpected ways: in the warmth of sunlight creeping through his blinds or in seeing signs with bright, colorful lettering as he walks through his neighborhood. Small things. Things that should be insignificant to him but now, because of you, aren’t.

Still, Luigi tells himself it’s enough–that the progress he’s made, however small or hollow it feels, is better than being stuck. For a while, it is. He believes it. 

Until he sees you. 

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind he’s found usually blur into the rest. Luigi wanders the streets without purpose, allowing his legs to move him along wherever they please. Then, through the fog of his rumination, you appear. 

You sit in a coffee shop, your head bent over a book, a mug of coffee settled beside your hand on the table. The gentle glow of the afternoon light spills through the window and catches in your hair. Just like in his dreams. 

For a moment, the world stops and all Luigi can do is stand there, across the street, frozen on the sidewalk, staring like a deer caught in headlights. 

It was you–unmistakably, indubitably you. 

His breath hitches. He wants to look away; convince himself this is some cruel trick of his imagination. He can’t. There’s no mistaking you. The gentle curve of your face, the way your lips press together in concentration as you turn a page. He could cry. 

Without realizing it, his legs begin to move, carrying him across the street, weaving through the bustling crowd. 

The bell above the coffee shop door chimes as he steps inside. The cheerful, bright sound cuts through the muffled conversations and clinking dishes of the shop. 

It’s fate, his heart says. The universe rings a bell, just for him, to tell him this is exactly where he needs to be. 

You look up at the sound, your eyes scanning the room briefly before they land on him. Everything else fades away. The noisy hum of the coffee shop fades to a distant murmur, the busy streets outside a blur of motion he can no longer see. All that exists is you. 

Your eyes lock onto his, your expression shifting into something resembling recognition–or maybe confusion. But then your lips part slightly, and the smallest hint of a smile forms as your eyes soften. The smile he’s seen so many times in his dreams, now real. He can feel it: that familiar flick of a flame igniting itself in his heart, spreading across the space between you. 

Luigi steps closer, the weight he had been carrying on his back for weeks giving way to something lighter. He focuses on making his way to you without his legs giving out, heart thrumming against his ribcage like a trapped animal. 

As he reaches your table, you close your book gently, placing it on the table beside your coffee. Your head titles slightly, eyes never leaving his as the faint smile on your lips grows just a little wider. His chest tightens, his mind racing to find the words he’s always wanted to say to you, but now that you’re here–now that you’re real–they vanish. 

Once he’s before you, he stops stupidly. You stare up at him, expectantly. 

What does he say now that you’re here? Do you even know who he is? He must look like such a freak right now, but still, you manage to look as beautiful as ever–even more so in person. 

“Hi,” your voice rips him away from his thoughts. The single word carries more familiarity than he thought possible. 

His throat tightens as he swallows, sound barely audible over the pounding in his ears. His lips part, and for a moment, nothing comes out. He panics but masks it when he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, managing to find his voice. 

“Hi,” he whispers breathlessly.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask gently.

He tenses. The truth gnaws at him. You don’t recognize him, don’t feel the connection he had spent months dreaming about. The world feels like it’s been tilted on its axis. He stares at you, breath catching in his lungs, unable to comprehend the realness of it all. Every detail of you: from the way the light frames your face to the soft curve of your lips, all down to the bridge of your nose. Every detail of your figure he had spent all those weeks dreaming about, every part of you he memorized with meticulous care, it’s all here. He can’t look away, can’t tell himself it’s an illusion. 

“I,” his voice comes out softer than he expects. He clears his throat gently, to steady himself as he speaks. “My name is Luigi,” he says. “I just wanted to say…” He pauses, looking you over from head to toe. It’s you. The girl of his dreams. “How beautiful I think you are,” he breathes.  

He watches your confusion melt into bashfulness. Your face quickly softens into a flustered smile.

“Oh,” you say, heat blossoming in your cheeks. “Thank you so much, Luigi. That’s very sweet of you.” A pause before you laugh–a melodic, gorgeous sound. “I’m (Name).” 

“(Name),” he repeats. It tastes sweet on his tongue. It feels good, it feels right. “You’re very beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” you repeat, laughing once more. Luigi knows at that moment, he’d dedicate himself to making you laugh for the rest of his life if you’d let him. 

He lets out a small, shaky laugh of his own, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I should let you get back to your book,” he says, gesturing awkwardly toward the table. He forces a smile and takes a step back. “That was really all I wanted to tell you.” 

What a lie, but you don’t recognize him. What more can he do? 

“It was nice meeting you, (Name),” he says gently, and he sees your mouth open to speak, but it feels like too much.

Before you say anything, he turns to leave, moving for the door. The bell above it chimes as he prepares to step out. Just as he reaches the threshold, your voice stops him. 

“Luigi?” 

This feels like deja vu. He makes sure to turn this time, though, meeting your gaze. He watches you hesitate slightly, before gesturing to the chair across from you. 

“Would you like to join me?”

Luigi stares at you, his mind struggling to process what you’ve just said. Then, something shifts within him, just as it did all those months ago as he laid in bed, before the first dream had ever occurred. It eases the ache that has lingered for so long.  

He nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he takes a step back toward you. He sits in the seat across from you and you smile once more. He is whole. 

For the first time in his life, Luigi feels the fullness of a love that is unwavering. He has found everything he never knew he needed, and it’s more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. 

[creechurunderurbed]

into the y/nism, friendship where you are bullied

[jerrsterrr]

my sweet boys (pathetic clowns)

LMAO

[velvetwilde]

Who has the face like smarty does?

Who has the voice like smarty does?

Who has the choice like smarty does?

nobody, nobody, nobody.

[uwukiity]

Hello,

My name is Mohammed from Gaza. I am not a robot or a scammer. Due to the war in Gaza, I lost my mother, father, and brothers, and I sustained severe injuries to my leg. I appeal to you to protect my children and take them out of Gaza and help me complete my treatment abroad because my leg is at risk of amputation due to the lack of necessary treatment 😭. My wife is suffering from uterine cancer and hasn't received a chemotherapy session since the beginning of the events in Gaza. I humbly request a donation of €5 or more to treat my leg, my wife, and my innocent children.

Every passing minute threatens me with losing my leg, my wife, or my children.

My campaign has been documented and my data verified, and you can verify my story by requesting any information you need. Please donate and share my story.

My wife, children, and I are waiting for your donations.

Thank you very much. 🙏🙏

I really wish I could but I can't donate any money at this moment but I will post your gfm link so you can get the help that you need.

PLEASE HELP THIS FAMILY IN NEED!!!!!!!!!!

[bullymagnet]

A i'm not mad. i'm not mad.

B these colors...

these aren't the colors of any sphynxes we know, right? the blue is too dark to be truth. and while the dark red is saying "give in. be afraid. serve the witch. eat you, eat you up, replenish my might." the dark blue says...

"run for your life."

that's interesting. what power is that, that even as fauxbia uses it, it is warning her potential victims away from her? or does she even realize it's being used?

[everythingseasoning]

Working on the next SMAU (will upload tomorrow)! It’s gonna be:

ღꨄ Texting them, “oh my god, did you see him? That guy was so cute” while you’re out with your friend

*cue the angst* // don’t do this to ur irl partners

(I’ve written Satoru’s smau and I do like it)

check out my recent smau: texting them drunk and worried after their mission

and the previous smau: asking them if they’d still love you if you were a worm

SMAU requests OPEN, and I’d love to hear from yall!

[neuvilletteswife]

Argenti Fluff Alphabet!

Inspired by the NSFW Alphabet by @fairy-tail-babes.

Feel free to use for your own writing Blogs!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Argenti spends his free time to take care of you both physically and mentally. He loves to praise, cuddle and protect you. Always make sure that you feel happy when you are with him.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He loves to admire everything about you. Your face, body and attitude. Everything about you is beautiful for him. Argenti never stop praising you.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He is good at comforting you.

“Shhh…My dear please let me comfort you.” Argenti pulls you closer to his chest. “What happened? Do you want to talk? If you don’t want to it’s alright. You can cry. Let it all out. I am here for you. I never leave you my love.” He rubs your head softly and kiss your forehead. “You will get better soon. My beautiful. Please be relax in my embrace” Argenti rubs your back softly before you sleep in his arms peacefully as he watched you sleep with his soft and caring eyes.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He wants to travel space and finds Idrila with you. He will support and take care of you forever.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He can be dominant one or passive. It depend on you want him to be. Even he is dominant, he never push you into anything. He also follow your wishes too. When he is passive he is a good follower would do everything for you and will sacrifice his life if you asked him to. He loves it when you make him wrap around your finger.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Be the first one to apologize whether he is wrong or not and always forgives you. He prefer to talk to fix the situation over fight.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He always says “Thank you” or praises you a lot for do something for him. Even though the things that you did for him is just a little but he always remember and appreciate everything you did.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Argenti is straightforward person. He never keep his secrets from you. He trusts you and shares everything to you. Lie and deceive are not in his dictionary.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

He learned a lot about your planet. How he should live or behave on this planet with you. He appreciated that you help him solve the problems a lot and he will repay you with his kindness and treat you like a prince/princess.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Argenti rarely feel jealous. He is always understanding you. If he feels jealous. He will just ignore it.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

He would ask your consent first. (What a gentleman) His kiss is loving, soft and passionate. He is a good kisser. Never too rough or making you feel uncomfortable. If you kiss him you make him feel lucky like he was born for this moment.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

When he feels his heart beating so hard when he is with you. He will confess his feelings for you. How much he adores and love you. His feelings are genuine.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He will dream of marrying you one day but if you don’t want to it’s alright. He always lives with you until his last breath anyway. Your marriage are full of roses and luxury decorations. He did it just to impress you.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

My rose, my love, my dear and sweetheart.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when

they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He will express his feelings directly to you that he loves you so much. He always treat you well.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Argenti will praise you in front of others but when you two show affection by physical touches. He prefer to do in private. (He is a knight so he won’t do anything too affectionate in front of people)

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Argenti loves to do your hair. He is also a very clean person himself. He might clean your body too.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Argenti is born being romantic (most sweetest knight that you ever met). He can be both cliché and creative but he wants you to tell him how to make you happy. He likes to surprise you.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Argenti is always support and believe in them 1000000% He also help them to achieve their goals and praises while they doing it.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Argenti would like to spice out by taking you ride his spaceship and travel around the universes.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Argenti is walking green flag. He knows about you a lot. He always let you speak what’s in your mind without judging. He never being mean to you. Always empathetic and understanding.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You are a beauty of his life. You always make him feel happy just being exist. He always feel grateful and lucky to have you in his life. You are everything to him.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He doesn’t mind when you tease him. He also likes it and laugh but he rarely teases you.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Argenti is very affectionate and likes to touch you soft but firm. He loves to kiss, hug and cuddle for relief his or your stress. He would do everything you want him to do. Just say it.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He will thinking about you all the times you left. Sometimes he messages you that he misses you a lot follow up with his infinite praises when you are on work.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Argenti would dedicated his life for you just like his aeon. Would sacrifice his life for you. Never leave you. His loyalty is very strong. Argenti is a perfect lover.

[ysabelyaps]

hellooo

maybe you could do se-mi x reader where the readers a professional soccer player and they get hurt while training and yada yada ⚽️

-🎐

BRO I WAS WRITING IT AND THEN I EXITED THE APP FOR LIKE .5 SECONDS TO SEARCH UP HOW SOCCER WORKS (I hate athletics.) AND IT DISAPPEARED. IT’S GOING TO TAKE A WHILE MORE BECAUSE I HAVE SCHOOL AND STUFF SORRY ANONYMOUS.

(pooks idk what emoji that is, so as of now you’re jellyfish. Jellyfish and then there’s mango. I love these little anon names)

[mrsmangi]

Freesia 🌸

secrets - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: freesia - telling a secret of which they've told no one else - meaning: during the victorian era, freesias were seen as a symbol of trust & used to send secret messages. ♡ w.c.: 980 ♡ a/n: thank you, faye! this one is short & sweet, just for you. 💋 hope you enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! (plz, i love flowers)

The room is quiet. Moonlight spills through your curtains, casting silvery patterns across the walls and sheets. You’re in bed, laying half-draped over Luigi, your skin warm where it presses against his. The heat of the summer night makes the minimal layers between you feel like too much.

He’s shirtless, chest rising and falling in a continuous rhythm beneath your hand. One arm is tucked behind his head, the other wrapped around your shoulders. You lay clad in only your bra and a pair of shorts, thin straps digging slightly into your shoulders as you shift closer to him. Your finger traces small, lazy stars across his chest, the motion absentminded.

The cool air from the open window brushes against the skin of your back, a deep contrast to the warmth radiating from his body. His skin is firm, but soft beneath your touch. Every so often, you feel the faint twitch of a muscle beneath your fingertips.

You love moments like these with him: quiet and intimate. They don’t need words to portray their significance. You feel no pressure to make conversation. His voice breaks the silence anyway, low and steady.

“Do you always do this?” he asks, his large hand brushing against the small of your back, settling at the curve of your waist. His touch is light and delicate. Luigi always has a way of treating you gently.

“Do what?” you murmur, not looking up.

“Draw stars on people,” he says, a teasing edge to his tone.

“Only on people I like,” you reply, your lips curving into a small smile. You prop yourself up on one arm, palm laying flat against your right cheek. Your left hand remains on his chest when you meet his eyes. They’re darker in the low light, but tender.

He mirrors a smile that matches your own, laughing quietly. His hand moves up to trail a lazy line along your spine. “Good to know.”

A comfortable silence falls over you both. You take advantage of the moment and lean forward to capture his lips on your own. He reciprocates the gesture immediately, hand laying flat on your back to push you closer. His lips are plush and moist, slowly ravishing the taste of your lips. His scent is filling your senses, making your head dizzy with pleasure. Oh, how you wish you could kiss this man forever and never run out of breath. When he pulls away, you pant softly–as does he.

As you catch your breath, you lean your forehead against his and close your eyes. He closes his own, silent until his breath is even.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers.

When you open your eyes, his eyes are already open, gazing at your face.

“Anything.”

He stares at you for a long moment before sighing, head tilting. “I know I come across as,” he hesitates, thumb brushing against the curve of your hip nervously, “Contrarian. Opinionated. Maybe even arrogant.”

“Maybe?” you laugh quietly, fingertips stilling on his chest. “What ever gave you that idea, my dear?”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles faintly. “Okay, fine. Definitely, but the truth is…” His voice trails off, eyes wandering to the farthest wall in the room, pensive. Then, they flick back to yours. “I really don’t give a fuck if people agree with me. I just want to know they’re paying attention to me.”

Your fingers begin to move again, tracing a heart on his chest. “What makes you say that?”

His thumb resumes its movement, brushing beneath the fabric of your shorts, on your hip.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “I was just thinking earlier today about the way you look at me when I talk. It’s like you’re not just hearing me. You’re listening. You actually care about what I have to say, even when I’m being…me.”

You laugh again, but it fades once you register his words. Your gaze drifts from his face to your hand on his chest, heart spiraling into a shape that’s less defined. “Isn’t that how everyone wants to be understood, Luigi?”

“Maybe,” he replies. “Not all people have the patience to do that for another person though.”

“You deserve it,” you say simply. It nearly comes out as a whisper.

“So do you,” he replies, immediately.

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. You lay your arm to rest, head falling back onto his chest. “Big bad Luigi isn’t as contrarian as he wants people to believe.”

He huffs a laugh, hand sliding up to cradle your upper back. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold..”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you whisper.

His hand shifts, sliding slowly from your upper back to your chin. His touch is firm as he tilts your face upward, guiding your stare to his. His fingers linger, brushing along your jawline, thumb resting just below your lips. Within a second, his other arm wraps around the back of your neck, hand cradling the curve where it meets your shoulder.

“C’mere,” he murmurs.

Then, his lips are on yours. The kiss is tender and unhurried, just as the one from minutes before, but it’s intensity leaves you breathless. You melt into him, heat of his body grounding you as his lips move against your own. If he keeps kissing you like this, you won’t be able to take much more without ending up between his legs. He pulls back, and you have to fight off a moan when his teeth graze your lower lip, tugging gently as he ends the kiss.

“Your secret is safe with me,” you echo in a daze.

He smiles. “I’m counting on it,” he mutters, voice just as tender as the kiss he’s given you.

Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you know you’ll keep it for as long as you live.

[blueiight]

when you are on a network that puts you on a timeslot that does not allow for explicit sex scenes , how do you emphasize the thread of sexuality being a relevant factor in the protagonist’s journey? divorce-by-incomplete-blade his marriage, before louis met armand, he was in cruising parks when he wasnt with claudia or trying to be a photographer. that is my one critique of this season i didnt see articulated - in that we did not have enough time to see the times in paris louis lived. we hear him speak of familiarity to gordon parks’s methodology [implying that he knows the man or knows of him very well at the very least] and tell claudia in earnest excitement at the dinner table abt the parisian multiracial avant garde. anyways... the cruising park is where armand decides to confront louis directly for the first time after following him & claudia for five months. the physical evidence of photographs cannot be altered so readily, but the story of them remains to be told by the photographer, louis. and what does he tell us?

“pictures are outward evidence, they do not lie, but neither do they tell you a thorough story.”

[acupofteaintheafternoon]

Miles Edgeworth x Reader who likes collecting figurines

I couldn't find anything about x reader who likes collecting figurines so I will be doing it myself

also i'm dead ass broke too and I wish i had someone to pay for my figurines lmao

This man right here will not consider your hobby as ‘’weird’’ because I mean he watches Steel Samurai and has a figurine of one of the characters himself so

But when he sees the price for some figurines that you’re collecting he fucking dies

Yes he does support your hobby and occasionally buys you figurines of your favourite character

But he can’t help but stare in horror at some of these prices even if he is rich asf and can afford basically everything and anything

You will have a dedicated bookshelf to collecting figurines because imagine a figurine of Megurine Luka (or any anime character in that universe) staying right behind his music records. A comedy.

He might call them occasionally ‘’cheap pieces of plastic’’ when he feels a little angry that day but no worries he didin’t mean to

If you somehow by a miracle find a Steel Samurai figurine and then display it he might not seem impressed and give a simple ‘’hmph’’ but on the inside he secretly wants that figurine too and might stare a little more than he is supposed to. (and also make a plan on how to steal that poor figurine and display it for himself somewhere else)

Bro you have to, you both have to make a steel samurai themed display bookshelf to exist in his room even if he will act like ‘’It is not my passion! I swear I don’t watch kid shows’’ but on the inside he’s excited and happy.

If you’re dead ass broke and want a figurine that’s like 4 months work of your salary then be assured, show the figurine to this man right here and you will be waking up with it packed somewhere random in the house (most likely in front of your room or in the living room)

If someone dares to call your hobby ‘’cringe’’ he will be there and argue with the guy because EDGEWORTH IS EDGEWORTH and he will not let others say negative stuff about you

Your hobbies your life and this man will support them no matter what

[m00nkissedlover]

i think i'm officially in my regulus black era... (no one is surprised)

i partly blame @crescenthistory and her amazing fics for my current condition (i love your fics, pls make more 🗣️💗)

[thekraftcryptid]

I’ve been rereading SYRE like once a week and stumbling across your art was like finding treasure in a desert 😭 What are your favorite chapters/scenes? My favorite scenes that I can’t help but go back to are the snake and the tree and Thatch and Izou talking while Shellie is just bundled in blankets (and the newest chapter because WB PIRATE FOCUSED and the writing and characterization of each of them is just 👌😤)

*we are family, Kiki Palmer blasts in the background*

I’m not joking when I say the first thing I did after reading this story was look up fanart for it, find nothing, and no one talking about it and said:

On god, this fic is watering my crops, feeding my family, clearing my skin, paying my debt, snatching my waistline, and has turned me into an ascended being of pure light. I thank whatever higher power (Dianxia from heaven officials blessing) has ordained that you find that fic, but then my art. I’m glad you like it and I love gushing about how amazing it is, especially how well our host HippieMindy52 writes with such a strong tone and specific characterization that changes depending on who we are following, you get to see each characters thought process, the way they process situations and new information and how they choose to act on it. It’s got me in a death grip tbh.

On god, there is more to come, I’m actually working on a birthday piece for one of my big sisters and her fav Jiujitsu Kaisen character going on that vacation he talked about. Also a piece from my other big sisters star wars fic (her name is deadstarsrising and if you like star wars her work is amazing, we parasite to each other and egg each others ideas on, #codependency)

Anyways, I’m actually planning to do a little mini comic based around the tree scene. (And now burrito Shellie but you didn’t hear that from me)

So far, one of the best scenes for me is actually our #bestdadcaptainhook Cherry when Fossa and Haruta scared the hell outa her, also when she met him and complimented his name when trying to find the kitchen. God those scenes were so good and packed with show don’t tell subtext, which is some of my favorite writing forms ever.

I cannot wait to talk to pirate daddy. On god I just got to him in the anime, I’m on ep 321 I think.

Sorry to ramble about this though, I just love fic writers and wanna give them as much appreciation as possible, bc while we artists get away with so much more on so many fronts. Just, show Mindy some love on god, she deserves it so much and I wish more people were reading it and making art.