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fligniuz · 2 months ago

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sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final.

word count: 5.5k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; dumbification if U squint; praise; oral (m! receiving); pre calc lol

notes : crossposting my shit to tumblr and starting with arguably one of my greatest uses of free will in history. title frommm:

You have a bit of a dilemma.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that you had a dilemma, have had one for quite a while now—your current grievances are merely extensions of a constant, one raging, blood-thirsty, borderline psychopathic problem of a class. MTH121, Concepts & Applications, is the only remaining mathematics credit required for your degree, and, coincidentally, absolutely no one told you that that’s really just a fancy name for pre-calculus. Because the universe hates you.

Your final is tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. If that wasn’t bad enough, your brain has utterly fucked you; months spent poring over formulas and right triangles amounts to nothing in the moment, every relevant fragment of knowledge completely foreign to your burnt out, sleep deprived, caffeine ridden psyche. So here you sit, “studying”, armed with just your textbook and Khan Academy tutorials.

Is it too late to switch majors? Yes, you decide, massaging your temples as you take another glance at your notes. A mass of numbers, variables, and scribbled matrices clogs the pages, complete with your near ineligible annotations, details added in the heat of a lecture. You never knew there could be so many different types of numbers. Solve for x. 5 + 2x to the 2nd power = 8x. Factor x3 - 3x to the 2nd power - 4x + 12. Find the vertex of the function f(x) = x to the 2nd power + 4x + 3. Determine the value of x if the sum of the following sequence converges to 5. How any of this is relevant to your future non-mathematics degree is beyond you.

What the hell is a vertex again? And what does it matter? You’d rather be sleeping, or drunk. Whatever.

You have one saving grace. Since your freshman year you’ve been employing a little cheat-sheet, your one-way ticket to having math explained to you in a language understood by plebeians like yourself: one Luigi Mangione, a friend of a friend of a friend, possibly the smartest guy you know (and you’re far from the only person to voice that opinion). Your self-appointed tutor—and unfortunately for you, probably the most appetizing of any of the frat guys you’ve met in college, to put it chastely. The actual knowledge is just a bonus, really, because unlike other tutors you’ve worked with Luigi seems to actually care; he wants you to walk away from him with a solid understanding of the material, rather than a temporary knowledge that gets your homework done but is absent from your memory by the time of your exams. And it’s hard to write off the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

…Pretty damn hard, actually. Because—in all honesty—you’re really into Luigi. Another thing that’s hard to do is get your math homework done when you’re busy fucking yourself with your fingers, like you tend to do after your time with him, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he would fill you, pin you down underneath him, smirk at you and tell you dirty things like that’s my girl, that’s my good fucking girl, that’s it, give it to me, show me how pretty you look when you come all over me like this…

Great. At this pace, you’ll never get anything done.

Your phone buzzes.

About an hour ago, you sent him a photo of your current predicament: your laptop and notebook open, and you sitting criss-crossed in front of it, an exaggerated pout on your lips. A few moments later, you sent another, this time of your middle finger pointed directly at your professor’s official portrait. Now, he responds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Come over. In like 15

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : And I better not hear any complaining when I make you actually do the math

Your crush feels elementary, like you’ve got the hots for the nerdy jock on the playground that’s miles out of your league and that every girl on planet Earth is fighting tooth and nail for. You respond:

no promises :P

You pray to your lucky stars that you can study as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

You told him you wouldn’t complain, and you’ve tried, you really have. But dividing radicals is fucking stupid and useless and the more you look at your paper the more these numbers and symbols really start to look all the same to you, just scribbles, meaningless scribbles of made-up concepts that have nothing to do with your career prospects whatsoever. Who gives a flying fuck about solving equations with these weird ass numbers that normal people don’t even use?

You must be thinking out loud, because Luigi laughs next to you on the couch. He is laughing at your frustration. What an emotionally supportive tutor. You groan and thread your fingers through your hair, massaging your temples.

Still smiling just slightly, he starts to gather up your things. “Alright, look, how about we take a break?” He glances over at you, still holding your head in your hands. “Yeah, let’s take a break for a minute.”

He gets up from the couch, disappears into the kitchen for just a moment. Comes back with a glass of orange juice. For you. You try not to think about how pathetic it is that the most romantic gesture a man has done for you in the past three years is bring you juice. Instead you watch him, sipping slowly—no pulp, he knows you so well—and peeking through your eyelashes as he scuttles around his dorm, just the two of you alone together, while he throws some laundry into a basket and absentmindedly closes doors of unoccupied rooms. You have never noticed how defined his calves are before, nor how his curls bounce just slightly when he walks fast or how his shorts sag on his hips just right, just enough for you to get a peek of his V-line and the waistband of his boxers when he raises his arms to stretch—

Nonchalant. Demure. Mindful. You are failing so hard at the one thing you’ve forbidden yourself from doing: staring at him until your eyes are practically burning holes in his clothes and he’s melting into the floor. Not entirely your fault. He should’ve known to dress modestly around you. Around anybody, for that matter.

Luigi comes to sit by you now. As you tuck your hair behind your ears you can feel his arm move to rest along the back of the couch, almost around you, but not quite.

“Hi,” you say, propping your head up on your arm.

He smiles at you. You can’t even look him in the eye. “Did you think more about your radicals?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

You swallow the conspiratorial intuition that he has to be fucking with you. Maybe he sees it on your face. Can smell it on you. Something.

“I was trying to think of some things I’d rather be doing,” you offer. “Instead of math.”

Your heart feels three beats faster all of a sudden, and when did he get so close to you? Your thighs are touching, his knee brushing against yours. “And what did you come up with?” he asks.

Oh, fuck. He’s definitely fucking with you. Right? He has that goddamn smirk on his face, that one that makes your insides twist with a feeling reserved only for boys who look at you just like this, like you’re busted, like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about every second you’ve spent sitting next to him doing algebra. You want to kiss it right off of him.

“Nothing,” you lie, sitting up straight and trying to pretend like you really are interested in your studies. “Here, will you show me how to do it again?”

He calls your name. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to look at him; the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head makes his intentions entirely clear. When your eyes meet his he inches closer, and all you can manage to do is stare at his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, stern and warm enough to boil.

If he truly knew what he was asking for he wouldn’t be asking at all, you think. Not unless he was prepared for whatever your fervent need has in store for him. Embarrassment feels bright red and prickly on your skin. “I shouldn’t say.”

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

Oh. Oh. All bets are off, now. This has officially progressed from studying to “studying”.

Luigi lets you lead, his hand settling on the small of your back as you come a little closer to kiss him, properly. You hear him giggle before your lips meet; the curve of his smile against you is unmistakable, casting sparks through your body and down your thighs. He tastes like spearmint. You learn quickly that he is a fantastic kisser, and his tongue finds yours with curious excitement when your breathing starts to pick up. Without question, he claims the expanse of you, drinking in your essence, licking, biting. Those irresistible curls demand attention, and so you thread your fingers through his hair, your hand sweeping from behind his ear to the nape of his neck. Luigi shivers under your touch, exhaling softly against you.

When the fingers of his left hand raise to grasp your leg, you stop kissing him only to swing your body over his lap so that you’re straddling him. Luigi breathes in deep then, like his nervous system collectively seizes at the feeling of you so close. To give him room to breathe you stop short of settling all your weight onto him. Lips meeting once more, his hands greet your hips; his touch is warm, and timid, like you��re made of sand, like you might collapse and dissolve into immeasurable particles between his fingers.

He groans into your mouth. Murmurs your name. “This isn’t very productive,” he quips.

“Intellectually, no,” you agree, nails brushing the back of his neck. He has goosebumps. A ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his lap; there are two layers of clothes between your bare skin but he is impossibly warm against you. “But what about physically?”

Luigi smiles, and fuck, he is too fucking beautiful. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

And so you kiss him again and again and again, your heart doing backflips inside your chest when his big hands glide lower, and lower, thumb toying with the waistband of your skirt, and lower still, until he’s gripping your ass. You can’t help but nuzzle against the growing stiffness underneath you, poking between your thighs—and you definitely can’t help but love the way he grinds back, hips meeting yours with just as much enthusiasm. Fuck. About an hour ago you were working through polynomials and linear equations, and now the dreamiest guy you’ve ever met is hard for you, holding you in his lap. You might as well thank your professor.

When Luigi sucks at your bottom lip for a few euphoric moments, you make the most pathetic sound into his mouth, and he growls, his hands suddenly coming up to grasp your hips and hold them steady. “Was this your plan all along?” he rasps, his lips moving swiftly to the side of your face, your jaw, the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Sharp teeth graze skin and you whimper. “What do you mean?”

“What, now you’re playing coy?” Luigi finds the pulse point in your throat and bites, softly at first, then harder when your fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. “You didn’t want to study. You called me because you wanted to get fucked, because you knew I’d want to touch you just like this, didn’t you?”

This boy is out of his mind. First he practically eye-fucks you while schooling you about imaginary numbers, and then he “scolds” you like he’s disappointed in your lack of interest in algebra, like he’s mad that you can’t resist him for being so damn gorgeous. That half-hearted meanness in his tone leaves butterflies in your stomach, in no way helped by the feeling of his tongue sliding over your collarbone.

“No,” you mutter. It’s not completely a lie. You really did need his help with the math, which he is really good at…but you can’t deny that you were really hoping you two would end up like this, with him kissing your neck all over until you’re speckled with purple and pink. You don’t even care about the obvious evidence of him on your skin—you want his entire dorm hall to know just how well-acquainted the two of you are by the time he’s done with you. The thought of everyone knowing you’re his makes you weak.

Luigi is kissing you again, slowly and deeply, one hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. His touch is too much and not enough simultaneously, your need overwhelming, and your hips are searching desperately for friction, rolling against him eagerly. So much for nonchalance.

He grasps your chin, firm but not at all painful, and flashes you that pretty smile, tutting, “I don’t believe you.”

Your mind is far too preoccupied with thoughts of his touch in other places to try to formulate a witty rebut. You opt instead to kiss him harder and sneak a hand between your bodies, tracing over his chest, down his carefully crafted abdomen, and then over the front of his shorts, groping his hard cock through polyester. Luigi groans into your mouth. He is big, almost intimidating, and imagining him inside of you has your body feeling hot all over.

As you palm the outline of his length through his trousers, his hands make their way underneath your sweater, the sudden warmth of him jolting through your torso. You look up at him through your lashes and he smirks.

“Do you want to sit on it?” he asks you, entirely stoic despite the weight of his words.

You kiss him, still squeezing his cock. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”

Fuck. You have him wrapped around your finger. How could he possibly say no when you ask so sweetly? Luigi is instantly pulling down his shorts for you, the rustle of fabric making your head spin. He’s left in just his boxers and a sweater that you quickly help him shrug off, too. Once you have him undressed, he takes a moment to survey you, your cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, hair tousled from his hands. You feel a surge of confidence now that you have his full attention and so you pull your top up and over your head, smiling when he reaches behind you to help you with your bra. He has it and your skirt off in just a few seconds, leaving your combined clothes to pile up next to the couch.

You shift so that you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him, wearing only your panties, watching him watching you. He is grinning, his cock standing proud, and you know you must be blushing by the way his teeth flash from under the curve of his lips. You feel gooey and hot in the pit of your stomach. Swallowing your shyness, you reach forward to take him in your hand. He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening on his slit, and so you begin to stroke him, starting at the head of his dick and spreading slick down his shaft. His cock is probably the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, at the very least a runner-up for his face: tan and thick, his girth evenly distributed, and big enough to have you feeling your heartbeat between your legs. There is a prominent vein along the underside of him, ending at his frenulum. He pulses with each movement of your hand.

Once he’s as wet as you like, you come closer to tease him with your tongue, licking up the base, tracing his vein, passing over his slit. Luigi groans—“fuuuuuck, baby,”—and threads his fingers into your hair, tugging hard.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he rasps. “You asked for this. Show me what that mouth can do.”

Your lips are halfway wrapped around the head of him and when you moan at his words it vibrates through him, his abs flexing deliciously. You move further down, then, mouth closed around his length, applying light pressure on your way back up. He’s too big to take all of him at once and so your left hand grasps the length you can’t reach, pumping gently. You start a subtle, easy rhythm, evenly paced and obviously satisfying enough to have Luigi panting and swearing above you: your mouth starts at his tip, sucking gently, then gliding lower, until you can feel him in the back of your throat and you’re nearly gagging on him—and then you move upward again, cheeks hollowing around him, finally reaching the head of him once more. Rinse and repeat. It is organized. Formulaic. Your process leaves you practically drooling on his cock, spit collecting at the base where you are stroking him. Fuck. You haven’t pleased a guy like this in quite a while, and under any other circumstances you’d probably feel a bit insecure about your work; but it’s difficult to justify any doubts you might have, what with the noises coming from above you:

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes, just like that, fuck yes,” Luigi moans, fingers knotted tightly in your hair. “Oh my god, your mouth…”

You slip your free hand into your panties, middle and ring finger rubbing your clit.

As your ministrations intensify, his reactions do, too. You can feel his thighs and hips tensing in an effort not to fuck into your throat. But you made a promise to yourself; you want to take the entirety of his length in your mouth before all of this is over, and so you move your left hand down to his balls, kneading him and carefully lowering your face until your nose is pressed into the curly hairs of his groin, his cock as deep as it can reach. And Luigi keens, head thrown back against the couch, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the armrest tight. You can feel him twitching in your throat.

There are a few blissful moments of you sucking him just like this, sinking him deep into your throat and pinching your lips around his tip, and you almost wish the two of you were recording because the sounds he makes are top tier jerk material for at least the next few months. He’d be a natural on camera. You want to commit every second of this to your memory.

When he goes quiet for a moment you open your eyes to look at him. You find him staring down at you, mouth agape. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks.

It’s difficult to answer with his dick in your mouth, so you settle for moaning around him again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts, his voice sweeter than sugar.

You could sit here sucking him off for the rest of your life—you could die with his dick in your mouth—but you regrettably begin to feel your jaw aching, knowing full well that keeping this up will have you hurting. Not that you really mind. When you begin to sputter and tear up around him, he grabs both sides of your face and pulls your mouth off of his cock. You are crying, just a little, crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks, your throat raw.

Luigi looks down at you sweetly. “Oh, baby,” he coos, wiping your wet face dry with his thumbs. “That’s my perfect girl. So good to me. Come here.”

He welcomes you back onto his lap with open arms and a smile. He is warm, so warm and soft against you, you could fall asleep just like this. But he is kissing you now, so slowly that you feel dizzy, and so you ground yourself, fingers embracing his curls. His hands move to your hips, grasping the waistband of your panties, teasing you, rubbing the fabric against your heat. When he finally has them off his fingers are instantly examining you, collecting your slick, slipping through your folds.

“Let’s see about a little reward for you, hm?” he whispers, capturing your lips with his.

You kiss him eagerly and arch your back so that your thighs spread wide enough for his fingers to enter you with ease—not that it would be difficult without, considering that you’re so wet you can hear him touching you, even over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Two long digits move inside of you, stretching you, massaging that spot that makes your knees buckle and your eyes cross, plus a few more that you never knew existed. His touch feels so good, just how you imagined, and you have to lean forward into the crook of his neck to keep yourself upright, your teeth sinking into a firm shoulder. Luigi makes a gruff sound, almost a chuckle, and his cock jumps at your whiny, choked noises when he adds a third finger into your pussy.

“So needy, aren’t you?” he teases. “Have you been thinking about this, gorgeous? About sucking my cock and taking my fingers like this?”

You nod, because of course you have. In that exact order. Who wouldn’t?

Luigi smiles at you, soft and adoring. You make a curious sound and his fingers depart from you, lingering at your entrance until you grind down into his lap. Your cunt brushes against him, raw, hungry, slathering his cock with your slick.

“I want you,” you whine, grabbing his face and kissing him again. “I want all of you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His hands are guiding your hips, moving you slowly against him. “Tell me about it.”

Well, you would, if your brain weren’t short-circuiting at the moment. His fault. You mumble into his ear, something about infinity, something about the way you hug your pillow at night and all the times you’ve fucked yourself stupid thinking about this very image of you and him together like this. But there are countless words for your endless feelings, words you would preach to him from high places if your body had the agency to; your attraction to him is primal, but neatly arranged, layered, wrapped up with variables galore and multiplying with each moment you spend in his presence. A mess, no doubt about it, but one you can control, a tangle to unravel, an equation to solve. Nothing less. You aren’t sure of how this ends but you know that you need him, bad, more than you knew was possible before.

You crash into him, mouths colliding, everything that you left unsaid spilling into your embrace. Words are hard. Kissing Luigi and grinding your warm, throbbing cunt against him takes much less brainpower.

He is speaking to you when you pull away: “Baby, just a second, wait right here, let me get something.” Gently you are pushed from his lap and he disappears into his room momentarily, leaving you waiting, alone, aching for him, until he rounds the corner again with a familiar foil packet, finding his way back to the couch and sweeping you on top of him once more.

“Hi. Sorry.” And now he is fully yours.

You whine and wiggle against him the second the condom is on.

“Shh,” Luigi whispers, “I got you, ‘s okay, gorgeous. Gonna take good care of you, yeah? Don’t you worry. Gonna give you just what you need, baby.”

The tip of his cock is pressing into you, then, slowly easing himself inside, and fuck, he fits just right, fills you up perfectly, has you seeing stars already. The sound you make when he bottoms out is a hop, skip, and a jump away from pornographic. Luigi purrs underneath you.

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” His hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you, and from this angle you can feel just how much he stretches you out. And then, as he begins to roll his hips: “My sweet girl, working so hard, can’t even think for yourself, can you, beautiful? That’s okay, baby. I can do all the thinking for you, you just sit back and let me work it out for you, yeah? Don’t think. Just let me please this pussy.”

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. Every single word he says into your ear shoots straight to your cunt, the mere sound of his voice so near you electrifying. He’s deep, and with your thighs spread wide like this you just have to take advantage of the perfect angle to rub your clit against him. You can’t help but squeal into the crook of his neck each time his hips ram up into you, thighs clapping against your ass; by the way his muscles tense you assume it must take much of his energy, and yet he pounds you like you weigh nothing in his lap, exerting himself like it’s a cakewalk so long as he can watch your face shrivel up with overwhelming delectation. You can tell that he loves it when you tug his hair or bite him, and so you do it every chance you get, just in case your hushed utterances in his ear fail to make your message clear enough:

“Luigi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, oh, fuck…”

As he paces himself Luigi wraps his strong arms around you, one caging your waist and the other pulling tight at your hair. Your neck is arched and exposed, leaving him free to smother his love all over you in sharp, uneven hickeys. You needed this, so, so bad, and you tell him exactly that, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you and holding him tight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. “You can have whatever you want with me. Anything.” His lips meet yours, fleeting, and then, with the slightest hint of a grin: “You earned this, baby.”

You groan directly into his ear. It’s straight from your dreams, you think, like you’ve been swept from your bed in the midst of the night and dropped right here, in the lap of the sweetest, smartest, most handsome boy you’ve ever so much as looked at, bouncing on his cock while he kisses you like you’ll float away if he lets go. The two of you work together to heighten each other’s inevitable undoing, like a function of sorts; Luigi pushes and you push back, meeting his hips every time, your clit brushing against him just right, and him breaching unknown depths of you, hands roaming, learning you inside and out.

“My sweet girl,” he grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours, driving into you with precision. “This is all yours, baby.”

Sweat starts to gather at his hairline and you can feel him shuddering in your arms. Kissing him, you press down on his toned chest, pinning him against the couch, and Luigi is practically singing for you, little grunts and babys and murmurs of your name traveling through your ears and echoing in your mind. You want this to last forever. His hips slow to a stop when you begin to move on your own; you raise yourself up, resting all your weight on your knees, with him sliding out of your cunt until just the tip is still inside—and then you drop down, letting him sink back into you quickly, slick and smooth, his cock so deep you can nearly feel it in your stomach.

Fuck. You love this. You love the way his hands grip your ass, your thighs, rubbing your back, moaning your name and kissing behind your ear. You love the way he looks at you. The pupils of those dark eyes are blown wide, watching you move, worshipping how your tits bounce, the gyration of your hips, the blush of arousal all over you, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. The sounds of sex and the shameless way he takes in every feature of your body have you feeling hot and ready to burst. You moan his name, drawn out and raspy.

“Yes,” Luigi groans. “You’re so pretty on top of me.”

Even through the haze of your pleasure you smile at his praise. He is telling you everything, every single thought that passes by in his mind, as if there will be no proof of how good he fucked you once you leave his dorm, as if every word will dissipate into thin air and leave you waiting, unsatisfied, hanging on the edge: “You take it so well, baby, my sweet girl, so perfect, so perfect just for me.”

His big hands are all over you. One cups your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, with the other splayed over your hip. You start to feel dizzy, anxious for his attention, a little bit crazy. Close. Luigi must notice the way your eyes screw shut and your pussy squeezes him tight, because his hand moves down your chest, over your stomach, and then to your clit, circling his fingers with purpose. He wishes—almost—that you were beneath him, so that he could replace his hand with his mouth, trace down your body with his lips and bring you to your very edge with his tongue, over and over again, until you’re begging him to stop.

He settles instead for kissing you, hard, slowly, lingering. “You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby.”

You nod, moaning, “yes, yes, me too,” your noises pained and rough in your throat.

The way his cock slams into you with each movement of your hips is ruthless, bruising; he’s kissing you so sweetly and you can feel your climax churning in your abdomen, rippling through you. It knocks the air from your lungs. Sex with him hurts so good. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Gonna come,” you huff. There are fingernail-sized dents in his skin. “Gonna come for you.”

Luigi nods, whispers, “good girl, such a good girl,” and circles his fingers over your clit as fast as he can manage.

You tense around him at that. You can’t even count how many times you’ve come imagining those very words whispered in your ear by the very man that you’re riding right now.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?”

You nod wildly, and everything feels so real all of a sudden, like you’ve been floating mindlessly in space and you are crashing down into reality. His teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck and his hips start to pump again and by the time he’s meeting your thrusts you’ve had enough, thighs shaking, and he starts moaning into your ear so that you know he’s right there with you, and fuck, he’s really trying to kill you—

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. A 5’11, dark haired and brown eyed muscle truck that looks at you like you are the only good thing left in the world.

For a moment there is only your deep panting and his equally spent breaths as the both of you rest, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, yours combing through his sweat-soaked curls. The dorm is quiet, calm, almost with an air of innocence, completely unswayed by the heady aftermath of what the two of you just did right there on the couch. You lean back and look into his eyes, brooding and trained entirely on you. And he has that stupid grin on his face, the one that gives both of you away for good, the one that screams we’re not the only ones who know what we’ve been up to.

You want to kiss it right off of his beautiful, beautiful face. But right now you just sigh, lean into his shoulder, and let him hold you tight. Tonight you will walk back to your dorm, all the way on the other side of campus, where your roommates will be waiting for you, likely getting ready for bed. You will walk inside and they will watch you without a clue as to whose hands have been on you, whose name has been on your lips, whose cock has been buried to the hilt inside of you for the past hour. Your legs will be aching—you are sure of it.

Your roommates will ask you, “how’d it go?”, completely unaware of what your wobbly smile really means, how you really spent your time with your cute tutor.

And you will respond, “oh, great,” with a barely masked giggle. “I’m gonna ace my test tomorrow.”

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fic #flig’s work

327 notes · View notes

mangostarjam · 7 months ago

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summertime madness — kaiju no. 8, narumi gen x f!reader, "babe" as a petname, sorta rivals to lovers, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, written for @tetzoro's summer olympics collab, 3.7k words

"Fucking bite me, Narumi."

"I'm trying, dummy!"

You stop your hasty escape abruptly, but luckily Narumi Gen's reflexes are good enough that he catches you around the waist as he stumbles into you, one palm slamming flat on the stucco wall of the alleyway to keep both of you from bouncing into it. His chest heaves against your back as he huffs. He doesn't let go of your waist.

"What did you—? Narumi, you just called the Japanese men's volleyball team ugly. You're the one walking around with shitty dyed hair!"

"My hair's natural, babe, unlike that bleached blonde sitting way too close to you," Gen grumbles. You can feel the summer Parisian air getting stickier with humidity by the second, not at all helped by Gen's body heat so close to your own. "Besides, I can prove it."

You don't even want to think about how he could try proving something like that. You dig your elbow into his side instead. "Get off me, dummy."

His grip loosens, but he doesn't move. You manage to spin around and his hand settles on the dip of your waist, his nose brushing yours as he grins cheekily at your averted gaze. "This is the longest conversation we've had since we got here, y'know."

"It's your own damn fault you're so obnoxious," you mumble, turning your head slightly so his breaths just puff against your cheek. The sticky heat feels hushed. Charged. Your gaze snags on the flex of his arm bracing against the wall behind you.

A distraction. You need a distraction.

"Your mouth is what got you into trouble with the Japanese men's football team yesterday, too. They were going to offer us free tickets to their next home games."

"That sleepy white haired guy was looking at you too much," Gen says flatly. You finally meet his red eyes squarely as the corner of his lips tugs up. "I can get you one of those chocolate muffins you were asking him for. Besides, I was just looking out for you — as your captain." Your cheeks feel hot. "Now why don't you tell me more about what you think of my mouth?"

"I think you need to shut up."

"You can make me?"

Your nose wrinkles before you can stop yourself and Gen laughs. He finally backs off but grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and tugging you down the alleyway. "Save your shitty pickup lines for all your new social media followers," you bite out, but you let him pull you along anyway.

"Hey," Gen says, glancing at you from beneath his bangs as you catch up to his pace. "How come you never like my thirst traps? I post those for you, y'know?"

You digest this for a moment, torn between wanting to poke fun at him for lying through his teeth (how could they be for you when you're just you? it's gotta be for the thousands of new followers he gets every day now that he's an Olympian) and speaking aloud the admission that could change your relationship forever (but only if he's serious — though it feels rude, to question him, when his hand squeezes yours).

The two of you pause at a crosswalk and he tugs you close as the crowd presses in. Paris is teeming with pedestrians and cars and it's nice, being together in your own little bubble as incomprehensible chatter fills the space around you. Gen's better at navigating the street signs and the many twisting turning side streets, so you let him lead the way and he lets you stick close.

"Where did you even learn about thirst traps, captain?" It's the middle ground, a safe route.

Gen shrugs and you stare as his broad shoulders shift beneath his stupid "Sincere" t-shirt. "I saw some of the other athletes doing it to promote their sports."

"And you think locker room photos where you flash your abs will suddenly make everyone want to join their nearest swim team?"

Red eyes cut to yours and you blink. Gen's smile is lopsided, curled like a kitty cat. You want to smack it off his face. "So you have seen them."

Of course you've seen them. Not that you needed to — a shirtless Narumi Gen is not a rare sight for you, not when you've been training under the same coach for half your lives — but the thirst traps are… different. Whoever taught him to pose so effortlessly needs to get pushed into the Seine.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know I took those pics in the locker rooms," Gen says. He sounds so smug it makes your blood boil.

"It was a lucky guess," you lie through your teeth, "locker rooms are a classic backdrop."

Gen frowns. "How do you know so much about other peoples' thirst traps?"

You're nearing your dorms in the Olympic Village, and your ear catches other languages besides French and English swimming through the air. Athletes of all shapes and sizes and nationalities begin to converge along the path. Gen tucks you closer into his side.

"Uh, I don't live under a rock," you say, only to forget the rest of your thought when someone walking in front of you glances back to meet your eyes.

He's tall, with wavy brown hair and a pretty face. Something about his build reminds you of the volleyball team you just left earlier. "Are you two Japanese?" he asks, in perfect Japanese. He's also wearing a jacket with the Argentina flag on it.

"Yes," you respond automatically.

The guy's polite smile breaks out into a wide grin. "Perfect! What sport are you here for?"

"Swimming," Gen says shortly. "Excuse me, she's having a meeting with her team captain."

"Oho? And who's that?"

"Me," Gen says. The Argentinian Japanese guy gives you a sly grin and an eyebrow wiggle. It kind of makes you want to hit him.

Gen steers you away before either of you can say anything else. Goosebumps erupt along your skin as the blast of air conditioning washes over you upon entry into the dorms and you valiantly try to suppress a shiver. The lobby is practically empty compared to outside, but a few athletes look up and eye the two of you with blatant interest.

"There are too many goddamn hot people here," Gen complains. He leads you down a hallway and flashes you a smirk. "Good thing I'm the hottest one around."

You stifle the urge to roll your eyes, well used to Gen's bursts of ego. He is hot — you won't deny that, not now — but the thing you've always been drawn to the most is how he cares. It isn't obvious, like with any of your previous relationships. Gen just works extra hard out of sight — long practices late at night when he says he stayed up gaming, not knowing that you spotted him hoisting himself out of the pool under the moonlight, droplets glistening along every dip and plane of his muscled back.

Gen also doesn't interact much with the rest of Team Japan, but they all rally around him as their captain. Everyone is aware that they can depend on him to anchor their relays or direct them to the right venues because he's seemingly picked up a lot of useful phrases in those international video game lobbies (and in the quick study language books you've spotted hidden beneath the mess of his rooms).

You don't think he knows that you know any of this about him.

You don't know if it matters.

Gen ushers you into a room as you ruminate, shutting the door behind you and quickly shoving the mess on the floor aside so there's a clear path to his bed. You stare at him.

"Narumi… how is your dorm so messy," you ask helplessly. "We've only been here for three days."

"I have a gift," he shrugs. You can't help the laugh that bubbles up, but Gen watches you, pleased.

You shiver a little as another blast of cold air fills the room. "So what did we need to talk about, captain?"

Gen picks up a hoodie and offers it to you, watching wordlessly as you accept it and pull it on. It's oversized on you, dropping heavily to your thighs and covering your hands completely, so you shove up the sleeves as best as you can. "Thanks."

Gen turns around and crouches on the floor. "I can't do this. Fuck."

Uh, oh. Is the stress of competing at the Olympics getting to him?

"Um…" you crouch next to him and hesitate a second before resting your palm on his back. He's warm through his t-shirt, the shift and bunch of his muscles annoyingly attractive even as worry bubbles up in your chest. "Are you… good?"

"You'resofuckingcuteIwannadie."

You rub his back a little harder. "Narumi-kun?"

"I wanna eat you out."

Your hand freezes. Gen shoves his hands roughly through his hair and peeks over at you, a tiny frown on his lips. Red eyes skip over your face — pausing on your softly parted lips, your eyes wide with shock, the way your cheeks puff with a stuttered breath. You don't know if you should bolt or play it off as a joke. Years of a (mostly) friendly rivalry stack up in the back of your mind like weights.

You've always been rivals and teammates. Never competing directly against each other in the pool, but always there, ready to egg each other on to faster and better times. Supporting each other through muscle cramps and plateaus and practices beginning before sunrise.

But you haven't talked to him in the three days since coming to Paris.

"I want you," he says clearly, twisting his body to catch your hands in his own, "to cum all over my face wearing nothing but my hoodie."

"Narumi…"

"Just one chance," Gen says. He brings your hands to his chest and flattens your palms against his heart, so that you can feel the rabbit fast beat thundering away. "Give me one shot, and if you don't fall for me or my dick, I'll leave you alone and you can flirt with all the other Japanese athletes."

"You're lying," you mutter. You can't quite look him in the eye, so you focus on the pout of his lips instead. "There's no way you'd leave me alone. And I wasn't flirting, I was trying to get as many freebies and tickets as possible."

Gen keeps both of your hands pressed to his chest as he reaches up to tilt your face towards him. You squeeze your eyes shut. "I wouldn't leave you alone because there's no way you'd leave me after I'm done with you."

You can feel his thumb brush lightly along the soft skin beneath your eye. This conversation feels incomprehensible. You can barely hear yourself over the thundering of your own heartbeat. "You'd be done with me?"

He cups your face with his hand and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter. "Never."

The first time Gen kisses you, it's soft and hesitant, like he still expects you to pull away even after all this time. His lips are careful against yours, his tongue gentle as he swipes along the seam of your lips. You part them with a quiet gasp, an unspoken agreement, and his next kiss is a little hungrier, a little harsher. Heat bubbles up in your ribcage as he brings you into his lap, manhandling you in a way that makes your head rush, his hands heavy on your hips.

You clutch at his shoulders and sink your hand into his hair when he nips at your lip, drawing out a startled little sound and jerking in his lap. The movement brings you right up against the thick, hot bulge of him in his gray sweatpants. Gen pants into your mouth as he carefully, slowly rolls his hips up into yours, watching with hooded eyes when your head falls back at the feeling.

"You're so fucking hot," he mumbles, leaning up to suck a bruise into the sensitive skin of your neck. You feel the sharp nip of teeth and flinch, but he soothes the spot with his tongue before you can protest. "You've got a qualifying swim tomorrow, yeah? Hold on, let me loosen you up for it."

Gen reaches up and snags the blanket off his bed, spreading it out behind you before laying you down on it like something precious. He stays close, pressing his body along yours as he kisses his way along your neck, drinking in your stuttered breaths and quiet little gasps like he's been waiting his whole life to hear them. "N-Narumi —"

"Here, babe, let me —" Gen's ears are bright red, but he drags your pants and undies off in one movement, tugging when they snag at your knees and ankles and tossing them aside impatiently. "Fuck, is all this for me?"

Rough hands shove your thighs apart and you squirm, hot beneath the thick plush of his hoodie. Gen kisses along your bare legs, his touch feather soft at the bend of your knee and the curve of your thigh, so you get no warning when his tongue swipes broadly up your center.

You choke.

"Ha — oh, fuck — Narumi —"

"Quit calling me that," Gen huffs, diving back in like a man starved. He moans right into your pussy and you squirm, eyes clenching shut as every nerve ending lights up and dances like sparks to your core. His tongue is relentless, dipping and digging into every fold, circling your clit and tugging it into his lips so he can suck on it lightly, sending all of your thoughts spiraling into a crash of pleasure. Gen yanks your hips closer to his face as you begin to ride his tongue, chasing the overwhelming ache between your legs and throwing your arm over your face as you sob.

"Oh, please, please Narumi fuck," you yelp as he sucks particularly harshly at your clit. You peer shakily down and meet his eyes — darkened with lust — as he raises one eyebrow at you in wordless command.

Gen slides one finger into your clenching walls and crooks it, massaging a spot that makes you gush around him until you feel tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. You're so — so close —

"Gen, please," you moan.

He hums and resumes the lightning fast flick of his tongue against your clit, the pattern and pressure somehow exactly right to send you diving over the edge of your orgasm with a cry. Oh — wow. Pleasure whites out your vision for a moment and dances at the edges as you blink helplessly at the ceiling afterwards.

"You've gotta be naked when we fuck, come on, babe," Gen mutters roughly, his hands haphazard as he pulls the hoodie off and takes the rest of your clothes with it. There's a brief moment of closeness as he reaches around you to fumble at your bra, his chin glistening with your essence as he scrunches his nose in concentration.

Gen notices your look. He wipes off his chin clumsily with the back of his arm and finally tosses your bra aside, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he eyes your tits. "You have no idea," he says, gaze flicking to yours and softening. "You've got no fucking idea how much you've haunted me."

"Your clothes," you remind him petulantly, reaching for the edge of his shirt. Gen gets the hint and immediately starts stripping, cursing under his breath when his foot gets caught in his briefs and grinning when you giggle at him. Miles of smooth, strong muscle are revealed inch by inch. You reach up to brush your hands along the divots of his abs. "I think your thirst traps are going to get flagged, by the way."

Gen covers you with his body again, interrupting your blatant ogling. The heat and weight of him is welcome. You whine at the brush of his cock against your thighs. "You totally saw them."

"They're practically nudes, Gen," you complain, nose wrinkling at the taste of yourself on his tongue when he dips down to kiss you. "You can't share your v-line on social media."

He's so warm and solid and strong against you, his hand cupping your tit and squeezing as he watches you twitch in his hold. "I need you to cum on my cock," he says, his tone low and desperate. "I've wanted this for so long —"

You reach between your bodies and slide your hand along his dick, smearing precum along the shaft and shivering at the silky length of him. "Get inside me, then."

Gen groans as the head of his cock prods against your entrance, his face falling into your neck as he pushes just the tip inside. You can't help but clench at the feeling, fingers digging into his shoulders at the sudden stretch. It's a little bit painful, but in a good way, a pleasant, aching sort of way.

He pulls back just enough to push in a little further, short, aborted little thrusts that only serve to wind the coil in your gut tighter with every sharp grunt from his lips. Gen's cock is thick, stretching you just right and prodding against your insides until he's finally sheathed fully in your welcoming heat.

"Quit that," he mumbles, his breaths hot at your ear. "Are you trying to make me spill early?"

"Gen," you say suddenly, the thought piercing through the pleasure filled haze of your mind like an arrow, "what about a condom?"

"I'll pull out," he promises. Gen lifts his head enough to meet your eyes. "I'm clean. I got tested before we flew out."

"I did, too," you remind him. "We all did."

"Well, I've only wanted you, and you were ignoring me for three days…"

You stare up at him. "Are you seriously pouting about that with your dick inside me?"

Gen snorts and takes that moment to roll his hips, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he bites down a groan. You shiver, heat flaring hot up your spine at the messy, wet noises coming from where the two of you are joined. He gives you an expectant look.

"I'm clean, Gen, I've been too busy trying not to get run over by a car to sleep with anybody and besides, why would I want to when I couldn't stop thinking about you — oh you bastard," your voice trails off with a moan as he begins fucking you in earnest, his hips rolling perfectly to hit every soft spot inside you.

Your hands slide from his shoulders to his arms as he fucks you into the thick blanket and the floor, grabbing on for dear life as the shivering coil tightens and aches inside you. Gen huffs when you wrap your legs around his trim waist, grabbing at your ankle after a few thrusts and propping it up on his shoulder. The new angle makes you sob breathlessly, clenching around him desperately, and when he props your other ankle up you snap.

"Gen, Gen, Gen, fuck —"

The strong, relentless slap of his hips against the backs of your thighs fill your ears, the bounce and jiggle of your tits a mere afterthought of discomfort as he throws you over the edge with every perfect nudge of his cock against your inner walls. Gen curses under his breath but watches every expression flash across your face, bullying his cock through your orgasm as your pussy tries to suck him in for good.

"You're so fucking hot, babe, so fucking good for me I'm gonna — gonna cum, fuck."

You feel his cock throb inside you an instant before he pulls out, head hanging low as he spills all over your stomach up to your chest. Warm, wet seed smears along your skin as he leans against your propped up legs to breathe, a stretch you'd normally complain about except you can't quite feel your legs, anyway.

You glance down and squint at the hair between his legs. "Gen…"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Did you dye your pubes?"

Gen laughs and carefully removes your ankles from his shoulders, snagging a towel from the floor to wipe your body clean. "I told you I could prove it."

"I can't believe you," you laugh. You feel boneless. Satiated. Warm. "And you did bite me, you dummy. I'll still have marks during my race tomorrow."

"Good," Gen says smugly, pulling you up to drag his hoodie back over your body. You snuggle into the warmth willingly, yanking him down with you until his head rests against your chest and his legs tangle with yours. "I'm not done with you, anyway. How are your legs? And your back?"

"Will you massage them for me?" you ask sleepily. It's nice, combing your fingers through his hair with his arms wrapped around you. Gen folds into you like he fits, even though he's bigger than you. It makes your chest ache. "I'm not stiff right now, but maybe later."

"I'll give you a chocolate muffin, too," he mumbles. "The filling would taste pretty good on your skin."

"That's a waste of a perfectly good muffin," you frown. "Gen, promise you won't waste the muffin like that."

Gen leans into your hands as you scratch gently at his scalp and the soft, fluffy strands. "I promise the muffins are safe. No promises on ever letting you go, though."

You can't keep the silly smile from spreading across your face. Thank goodness he can't see you grinning like a fool. "That works for me."

Bonus:

"Babe! Babe," the anguished yell makes you flinch, but you'd recognize that voice anywhere. The area around the pool is crowded with swimmers getting ready for the next event, though neither of you are competing in this round.

"What the hell, Gen?" you yank him aside, hiding behind a few obnoxiously tall swimmers in case any cameras are trained your way. "We're supposed to be supporting our kouhai! What's wrong?"

"My account got banned," Gen says. You want to kiss the pout off his lips. Red eyes flick up to meet yours and his pout curls into a smarmy grin. "Lookin' good in the suit, babe."

"Shut up," you shove his face away and he laughs, catching your hand and lacing your fingers together. You turn away to hide your grin but he kisses your temple and you know he sees the curve of your lips.

"What? Can't a guy compliment his girl?"

"I reported your account for indecent exposure."

"HAH?!"

#narumi gen x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 writing #kaiju no. 8 x reader #narumi gen #peep the cameos hehe #no chocolate muffins were harmed in the making of this fic #fuji writes!

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