JJBA x Readers Volume 2

Ghiaccio X edgy male neko

, pokerface, sharp, poison poker cards

Mild (full on) crossover with Ace Attorney because I have been FEELIN the 4th game
I know the Kitaki's aren't actual foxes but I thought it would be fun to insinuate, plus it fits so well with the request!!

Your favourite bar was in a place well known for its Asian-esque architecture and ties to the deadly feline mafia family, the Kitaki's. Buildings were owned and run by them, they had eyes and ears everywhere and most importantly they were above the law. This made it possible for you to use your special power in something other than combat.
This area was also one of the only vicinities which were accepting of new world races, such as creatures, hybrids and robots. You were a hybrid, part feline and part human. Your father was born with a stand-like power and had married a woman of feline descent, meaning you inherited small features of hers like ears and claws. The world had advanced with the discovery of stands, a mutation directly in the blood which caused a person to develop a special power. The effects could be minor or major, depending on several factors such as genetic makeup and environment. Unfortunately, not all those with stands were accepted within society, especially people who weren't humans, like you.
The Borscht Bowl Club was dead as usual. Patrons included the handful of regulars, such as your opponent, Phoenix Wright and the occasional students scouting the area for cheap booze. You were sat in the corner, smoking and swirling your drink in your fingers when a familiar voice made your ears prick up, surprised.
"Didn't think I'd run into you today."
It was Ghiaccio, a guy you sometimes threw about a little. He was a stand user like you, and whilst you weren't exactly certain of his profession, you knew it was similar to the kind who populated this area. Ghiaccio didn't come to this side of town often, if ever, so it was a shock to see him amongst such scenery. It was dingy and dark, a perfect place for criminals and shady people to do business. In a way, this was the most ill-fitting place for the Italian. It was so dirty and marring on his petite, crystalline form. Yet, it was also perfect for his ferocious, firey temper he kept under wraps, like wisps of smoke from a dragons nose.
"Likewise, what brings you here?"
Sitting down, the man placed his drink on a coaster and leant back against the wall, resting an ankle on his knee. "Y'here to drown your sorrows like me?"
"Just needed to get out of town. See something different."
"Hm. I see."
"I didn't think you were much of a drinker, Gattino," he quipped, supping the head of his drink with a smirk. Ah. The pet name. It was going to be one of those nights was it? With a nod of his head and a cocky attitude, he he drew your attention again. "That's fucking dumb. How can you drown a sorrow if sorrow is a feeling?"
Flicking ash into a tray on the table, your lover's black eyes bore holes into yours as he cocked his head, waiting for a response. "Shit like that pisses me off."
"Chill out. Man, you're so edgy."
"Hey, you were the guy sat smoking alone at the bar, dressed up like Gerard fucking Way."
Sucking in a whistle, you retaliated sharply.
"Ooooh, low blow. At least I don't model my hair from some ancient statue."
"Hey, that's fucking art."
"So is music, dumbass." An uncomfortable silence hung over the pair of you for a moment, until you pierced it with the squish of a spongey cigarette. "In all seriousness, this is the only place I can hang out without someone trying to walk me or pull my tail." Sighing, you curled the appendage up into your lap, protecting it from predators.
"I've told you before, you should come to Naples. My crew is totally accepting of any old fucker - You should meet Formaggio."
"Your friend isn't a hybrid."
"Pesci might be," he mumbled cruelly, hiding a snicker. Crossing his converse beneath the table, he slid his fingers down the cool surface of his glass, considering what to say. "What are you up to tonight?"
"Well, I was gonna have a game of poker but my opponent didn't show up. He's got a kid to be fair, that's probably it. She's a sweet girl." Pausing, you twitched a whisker and looked over at Ghiaccio. "If the back room's empty, we could play."
"Poker? Well... I suppose I am out for the night."

It was settled. Grabbing your drinks, you made your way to the back of the bar and exited via a door behind the serving area. The corridor following was cold and dark, a thin stretch of stairs leading to a strangely furnished basement room with a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. In the centre lay a poker table, scraped and scratched up, burn holes and whisky stains littering it's felt cover.
"The guy I play with usually is really good. I don't know much about him, 'cept he used to practice law about seven years ago. Sometimes he brings his daughter." You bent over, searching for cards in a nearby cupboard which housed wine and illicit items. "They've never really mentioned it, but I reckon she has a stand. The kid can tell your hand from the other side of the table based on the way you're sat. Crazy shit."
"Wow," you mumbled, dealing the cards. "You first."
The blue haired male took a look at his hand, expressions remaining stiff. You waited patiently, his skinny fingers pinching a card and ditching it.

Ghiaccio took your neck with a snarl, accusing you of cheating. Summoning one of your poison cards, you looked him dead in the eyes, thin edge of the playing card scraping a line along his jaw. Gritting his teeth, you swore you saw smoke blow out of his nostrils like a dragon.
"I can kill you in a second. Is that what you want?"
"Damn cat."

Exchanging tongues, the iceman thought he had the upper hand initially, his rough bite and minty taste knocking you off your feet a little. Manoeuvring yourselves so you could push him back onto the table, you wasted no time leaping up. The man growled as you rocked your hips lightly over his clothed groin, huffing small noises already and trying to stifle himself when your fangs glistened in the low light.
"You're hard already," you whispered, hitching his white shirt up so you could mark him pink down his washboard stomach, claws out enough to draw blood. The stand user didn't take kindly to this, grabbing a fistful of fur from behind you and yanking it, causing you to yelp. Flipping you over quickly during your brief moment of weakness, your mouths met again, desperately seeking closure on the rickety table. Hands coming up to scratch as his scalp, he bit at you harder, pushing to gain dominance over you. His middle soon had your legs wrapped around it, dicks rubbing uncomfortably against your layers of clothing. He groaned, demanding you roll over and get on your front. Literally ripping your trousers down over your hips, he shoved his fingers in his mouth, lubing them up with spit so he could prepare you for his generous length. It was difficult not to squirm when the pads of his fingers massaged your hole, gently breaking it in a little.
"Listen to you moaning like a little bitch already," he mocked, shoving his fingers in harder to make you yelp.

The way he filled you, it was so delicious, so sinful.

You couldn't help but arch your back to allow more of him in, your asshole pulsating already with every rough, careless thrust. Since your own cock was trapped between your body and the table, the added friction was constantly sending you crazy. Ears stretching back, he could feel you were close by the way you were keening.