missjiru - Tumblr blog

missjiru · 1 year

Text

Mon dieu! *fans self* Thank you again so much for taking my prompt and running with it! I really love it! So many sexy details make for such a hot *censored no spoilies* scene! As I mentioned before, your writing inspires me to draw more smutty art, so thank you for that! Also, future collabs, maybe!~

Gush gush, love love, praise praise~

Prompt from @missjiru that I picked up from this post. She is an incredibly talented artist and I can personally attest that her lewds are 🔥🥵🤤(check her profile for the tiniest hint of the possibilities!). Luckily for all of us thirsty people, she accepts commissions.

The whole crew is out for karaoke for whatever reason (wedding, everyone's collective birthday or something) and fem!reader sings this track and Five is mesmerized. They eventually go back home/to the academy. Maybe they are chilling in the bar area. Five asks if she'll sing it again just for him. Burlesque-y, strip tease-y, sexy shenanigans ensue?

The Birthday Boy | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 3.8k words, Rated E

October 1st: the communal birthday.

Until recent years, bad memories of being ‘the birthday kids’ meant that Five’s siblings liked to celebrate their birthday apart. Since regaining a new sense of themselves as a family, however, October 1st became a family gathering more strictly observed than Christmas or Thanksgiving.

The routine was a loose one: the afternoon was spent with the entire family at Griddy’s Doughnuts, laughing and, on Five’s part, complaining about how it wasn’t what it used to be. Every year he had the same complaint, and every year he was told not to be a miserable old bastard. After that it was dinner, drinks and a night of karaoke on the town.

You’d woken Five that morning with a steaming pot of coffee, a lingering kiss and birthday gifts. He’d recently expressed an interest in learning the guitar, so you’d got him lessons, but you privately didn’t hold out much hope for these: you’d seen him try to learn the basics of violin with Viktor once, and he’d lost patience as soon as it became clear he wasn’t going to be an immediate prodigy. You thought the cufflinks and tie pin you got him, however, might have a longer lasting benefit. These, he sported proudly in the bar.

It was lucky the lights were low, Five thought, because Diego was a total mess. He held a beer loosely in one hand and swayed expressively along with the music. It was refreshing to one of the most sober in the group.

“-And love dares you to change our way ofCaring about ourselves,”

Beside Diego on the stage, taking the part of David Bowie, Five side-eyed him as they sang in unison. He had to admit, despite being this drunk, Diego was really going for it with his Freddie Mercury.

“This is our last dance, This is our last dance,”

Five smirked as Diego stumbled, belched and hit a bum note.

“This is our- Jesus, Diego!”

Five shook the deluge of spilled beer off his now-soaked jacket

“Under pressure!” Diego continued, unperturbed, now holding the beer bottle upright again and raising his arm above his head.

“You’re paying for my dry cleaning,” Five said, swiping at his waistcoat before rejoining Diego to sing the last two lines.

“Under pressure, Pressure.”

Five was conscientious in karaoke, as in most things: leaving a song unfinished was bad form in his opinion.

“Idiot,” he grumbled, as the song came to its end.

“It’s my birthday,” slurred Diego, “don’t be an asshat.”

“Don’t remember wishing for a beer-shower when I blew out my candles.” Five grumbled.

He slotted the mic back into its stand, shaking his head and left Diego to his own devices. He stepped off the stage and craned his neck over the other patrons to where he’d left you at the bar.

“She’s gone to powder her nose,” said Lila, appearing unexpectedly at Five’s side.

“Right.”

“You look like you’ve pissed yourself,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Five rolled his eyes. Behind him, he sensed Diego’s unsteady gait approaching.

“I’m gonna go clean up. Try to make sure he doesn't end up in a ditch.”

Lila gave a mock salute and Five edged around her, moving in the direction of the men’s room.

He fixed the spill as best as he could. First dabbing it with folded toilet paper, and then drying the wet patch beneath the hand-drier, earning him stares and the odd smirk from other bathroom users.

When he at last pushed open the heavy bathroom door, he was greeted by the sound of slightly-distorted piano, drums and electric guitar over the speakers: a tune he vaguely recognized.

Just as he was about to turn his steps towards the bar, the voice of the singer caught his attention.

“-And they could never tear us apart.”

He smiled, recognising you before his eyes could turn to see you on the stage. When his eyes caught up with his comprehension, they were well rewarded for the effort: he was enthralled immediately.

You swayed gently from the shoulders, in circular movements back and forth. Effortlessly alluring in that wrap dress he loved on you: the way it skimmed your curves, swelled and dipped in all the right places like a lush range of hills and valleys. It showed just enough smooth skin to make him crazy, and hid just enough to make him anxious to see more.

He was staring, he knew, but the way your lips moved only an inch before the mic was already giving him ideas.

You caught his eye, and a glowing smile lit up your face. To be the object of that look was the best gift you’d given him that day.

In turn, you studied him as you inhaled to sing the next line. There he was, his back and one foot against the wall, leg bend. His arms were folded and his brows raised in interest.

“You, you were standing,”

You maintained eye contact deliberately as you sang it, giving him a cheeky wink for good measure. It let him know that, from your perspective, ‘you’ wasn’t some lyrical archetype, but him. His expression flickered: one corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyebrows quirked, but it was his eyes that made the greatest impression. They fixed you with a brooding, assessing gaze.

You knew perfectly well what was on his mind. You knew that look: it was the one that removed your every inhibition and left you happy for him to do as he pleased with you. With that look, you knew something of what would be in store for you when he got you home.

“I was there, Two worlds collided”

Klaus appeared at Five’s shoulder.

“Heavens, you should be using protection rather than eye-fucking her raw.”

“And they could never-” Ever, ever, tear us apart.”

He and Klaus clapped as the music finished, Klaus watching Five with amusement, Five still watching you.

“I’ve got a viagra guy if you need some little blue pills, grandpa?”

Heading over to rejoin you as you stepped down from the stage, Five flashed Klaus his most dangerous smile.

“I’ll be quite alright, thank you.”

As you made your way through the crowd, he came upon you suddenly, stepping out from behind a rowdy group of women.

“Hello,” he said, simply, his hand coming immediately to your lower back- a reassuring and slightly proprietary presence.

Smut below cut

*** You snuck out early, arriving back at the Academy before everyone else. Five dragged you into the living room for one final drink before turning in. His soaked jacket and waistcoat were thrown on the couch behind him, and he sat on one of the barstools in his shirt and tie. He watched you as you moved busily behind the bar and winced as he took a sip of his newly poured drink.

“Oof. You don’t skip on tequila, do you?”

“Nope,” you said, placing a cocktail umbrella in his drink with a flourish.

He let out a breath or two of laughter.

“Thank you, dearest.”

He was eyeing you with the same look he’d given you back in the bar. You tried to meet his gaze, but the knowing smirk that appeared there made you flush and look away.

“You have a good voice,” he said, while you studied the polished surface of the bar, “I was sorry to only hear the end of that song.”

“Thanks,” you said, a little embarrassed, stirring the straw around your own cocktail.

He considered you for a moment, head tilted.

“Would you please sing it for me?”

“What?”

“I want you to sing it again.”

He jerked his head, indicating the space on the rug in front of the bar- an informal stage for his viewing pleasure.

“Five-” you said, trying to dissuade him, but he interrupted you with an imperious look.

“Hey- it’s my birthday, remember.”

And then he grinned. It was a maddening expression. He looked, honest to god, as if he’d just beaten you with an infallible argument. Which, of course, he had.

Slowly, you stepped out from behind the bar and set yourself in the space he’d indicated. He pivoted on the stool, so that he was sitting facing you. Drink in his left hand, he leaned casually backwards against the bar. He looked effortlessly sophisticated; confident; self-assured.

“There’s no music,” you said, hoping for an excuse to wriggle out of it.

You should have known. He just smirked and produced a remote control from his pants pocket. He pressed play and the sound of the mellow piano issued from unseen speakers.

“I set it up while you were in the bathroom.”

You shook your head and huffed, half exasperated, half gratified. He inclined his head at you expectantly, as if to say: ‘Well, go on then.’

With no more than a quick roll of your eyes at this, you let the music take you away from the slight self consciousness around performing this way for an audience of one. Despite the feeling of exposure, your hips loosened, the flow of the music taking them into a soft sway.

After all, you’d been ‘exposed’ in front of Five many times before, and in various different ways. Why should this be any different?

He watched, satisfied: the way your legs went on forever in those heeled shoes, the way the snug fabric around your hip stretched and undulated with the tidal movement of your pelvis. They’d look good moving that way on his lap, he thought, with the skirt hitched up nice and high, of course.

“Don’t ask me, What you know is true,”

Even with your eyes closed, your voice wavered with nerves. You could feel his eyes on you like a breath of wind, raising the hairs on your exposed skin.

“Don’t have to tell you, I love your precious heart,”

“Strip,” came his voice.

You stopped singing, wrongfooted.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” his voice held a quiet command, “it is my birthday, after all.”

He gave you another imperious raise of his eyebrows, slurping his margarita through his straw. He looked as if you were a mildly-entertaining TV show that he was reserving full judgement on.

You shook your head, laughing disbelievingly at his cheek.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to.” he said, silkily, “I know the idea turns you on.”

“Anyone could walk in!” you said, unable to hide your delight at the idea.

“Exactly,” Five said, voice low, “and you like that, don’t you?”

A smile spread slowly across your face. You did like that. He could read you like a book, and this knowledge combined with the situation itself made your pussy give a little twinge. You could feel yourself becoming wet already.

You stepped backwards onto the rug, to give him a better view. His little demand made you miss the whole first chorus, and now the drums were beating stirringly towards the second verse. You made the most of this, looking him in the eye as you rolled your hips more suggestively this time, letting their flow bleed into your waist and torso. You raised your arms above your head slowly, arching your back so that your breasts were thrust into greater prominence.

You grinned as his eyes flicked there, just as you intended. So easy to direct.

Time to up the ante.

“We could live, For a thousand years,”

Your hands skimmed your body on the way down, cupping and rubbing across your breasts and coming to rest on your hips. Five’s lips pursed as he watched, readjusting his seated posture to spread his legs fractionally wider.

“But if I hurt you,”

Your hands came to the tie at your waist.

“I’d make wine from your tears.”

Slowly, you began to loosen the knot, Five watching hungrily. Seemingly without his knowledge, the hand not holding his drink left the bar and came to rest on his thigh.

“The shoes stay on,” he murmured.

“I told you, That we could fly” The dress undone, you held it around yourself, loose enough to give him a better view of your cleavage, but tight enough to tease. “Cause we all have wings,”

A twitch of the skirt’s hem to reveal your upper thigh. Five put his drink down.

“But some of us don't know why.”

You began to sing the chorus, but your voice petered out. Five’s longest finger was in motion, stroking softly up and down his inner thigh. In another situation, it might have been an innocent fidget, but not in this one.

While you hadn’t expected this, exactly, you had anticipated Five wanting to see you in your underwear before his birthday was out, so you’d chosen lingerie: black lace bra and panties and, for good measure, stockings with a suspender belt.

You dropped the dress.

“Mm,” he said, softly.

You gyrated to the music, closing in on him and running your hands down his chest. His hands reached out for your hips, but you moved them away.

“Wait. Don’t touch yet.”

He nodded, both hands moving to his knees. You bent from the waist, fingers continuing their journey: skimming past his waist, stomach and down both his thighs. He ogled your breasts, this angle making them seem extra full, cupped perfectly by the bra. He had to control an almost-overwhelming impulse to rub his thumbs over your nipples, poking prominently behind the delicate lace.

You heard his controlled, huffed out exhale and smirked.

When you straightened back up, his eyes were back on yours.

“Can I touch myself?”

His voice was low, gravelly.

“Only because it’s your birthday,” you said, grinning and stirring your hips with honey-smoothness.

His hand immediately cupped himself through his pants, his thumb stroking lazily up and down his shaft. So far, the fabric had hidden the significant bulge between his legs, but as his palm flattened it around him, you could see it, the manhood swollen and heavy in his hand.

You revolved on the ball of one foot, still moving your hips in that syrupy way. You sat softly on his lap, grinding your ass into him where he was hard.

“Oh shit, that’s just not fair,” he groaned, both arms returning to the bar, “how am I supposed to not touch you now?”

You chucked as you rubbed yourself sinfully against him, glorying in his tight breaths; his gentle shifting beneath you as he tried to increase the friction. With the song having ended a minute or so ago, the only sound was his sighs and the slight creek of the barstool.

When you noticed his knuckles turning white, gripping the ledge of the bar, you thought he’d had enough.

“You can touch me now,” you said.

His hands immediately came to your hips and firmly slid you off his lap.

“Get on your knees,” he growled, with a glimpse of teeth visible beneath the curve of his upper lip, “blow me.”

You moved to obey, but not fast enough, he used his grip on your hips to urge you faster, turning you towards him before grabbing your shoulders and push-pulling you down towards his crotch.

Your knees hit the plush pile of the rug and you looked up at him as he feverishly unfastened his belt, parted his flies and pulled his cock unceremoniously from his underwear. It was thick, stiff and a deep, fierce red at the tip.

“I’m in charge now, okay?” he said, barely moving his lips.

“Yes sir.” you replied, the epithet half in jest and half not.

At this confirmation, his right hand laced itself in your hair immediately, reinforcing the message. In his left hand, he held his cock by the base and, angling your face towards it, he let it drop so that it lay obscenely across your face. The soft impact of his weight brought a sting of pleasure to your core, radiating outwards from your pussy. You could feel your own wetness collecting against the lace of the panties.

“Put out your tongue.”

His voice was still deeper than usual. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he sounded angry.

You did as you were told. Taking himself back in hand, he slapped himself into your tongue, wetting his tip liberally with saliva and enjoying the view.

He let out a growling breath as he directed himself slowly into your waiting mouth, sliding across a slick tongue until your nose met his neat curls. This was the best part, he thought, the first time he was wholly inside you. The feeling was something like sinking into a perfectly warm bath, cock first.

“That’s it,” he whispered, still in that gruff tone, “that’s it angel. Go nice and slow.”

His grip loosened on your hair, signaling for you to take over.

He was hard and hot in your mouth, his skin silky against your lips.

You looked up at him, watching as expressions passed across his handsome face, changing and morphing from one to the other as the sensations took over him: smug satisfaction became ecstasy and ecstasy became mild amusement as the movements of your mouth kept him on his toes with unexpected spikes of pleasure. As you drew your head back, your lipstick stained his skin, leaving a colored smear all the way up his shaft.

He looked down at this, mouth agape; wide-pupiled eyes shaded by his thick, dark lashes. Amusement was gone now, replaced by nothing short of incredulity.

“My God,” he whispered.

Your lips formed a seal around his head, to hold him in your mouth as you licked eagerly at his tip: something that always made him weak at the knees. Tonight was no exception: his grip on your hair tightened again and he made an abrupt, pained noise, as if he’d just been struck by an enemy rather than pleasured by his lover.

As his neck arched and he looked straight at the ceiling, he rocked forwards on the barstool, getting his cock as deep as you could take it.

“Ah shiiit,” he called out, the words almost an inarticulate sound.

Encouraged by this, you tried to swirl your tongue again, but his shaft pinned your tongue down. Instead, you bobbed your head, swallowing his cock again and again, letting your lips stroke him as they dragged and plumped with his passage between them.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, as he tried to stop himself thrusting against the barrier of your throat, “just incredible, baby. I’m so…I’m nearly there.”

One of your hands came to his, still rooted in your hair, and gripped it. You guided his hand to push and pull at your head, inviting him to control its movement and take his own pleasure.

He made a low grinding sound in his throat as took you up on your unspoken offer. He held your head more firmly in his hands and stroked himself with your face, slowly pushing you down and bottoming out in you and then, just as slowly withdrawing with hissing breaths. Every time, with intense self-control you could sense in the set of his grip, he stopped just short of your throat.

As he continued to use your face this way, you could feel his fingers tightening and loosening spasmodically. Hiis movements were becoming more erratic, his breathing ever more shrill and gasp-like.

Amd then he moaned, tensed, and froze.

He turned his face back to you and drew your gaze to his. He began to tremble. His eyes were hazy, strung out.

“You want to swallow it?”

By way of answer, you sucked his cock again, resuming at the same tempo he’d been at before he stopped.

“Oh fuck!” he barked.

Again, his pelvis was thrusting messily into you, incapable of the finesse needed to avoid occasionally butting up against your throat. Your eyes watered, your larynx constricted, but you held out, (it was his birthday, after all).

Your tolerance wasn’t tested long. With a shout, his pleasure burst its bounds inside your mouth, painting your tongue with the evidence of his orgasm: thick, salty and potent. He held your head to his crotch as if letting go might mean death. His shrill breath hitched as his cock throbbed with pump after desperate pump deep into your throat-

The sound of the door and rowdy voices.

Five, preoccupied as he was, didn’t immediately register this, so you thumped your fist on the outside of this thigh. This brought him back to the here and now and, instinctively, he blinked, dragging you with him by the hold he had on your head.

You emerged, dizzily, behind the bar, shielded from the eyes of his siblings, newly arrived home. Still coming, Five let your head go.

“Shit, your dress,” he muttered, distractedly, leaning against the polished wood and wriggling tensely.

His hands went urgently to his waistband to cover his dick, still shooting out thick but waning splashes of come, but he found your head still resolutely in the way.

“What are you-? Oh shit,” he whispered.

Unbelievably, you were still sucking him off, still swallowing his seed even as his siblings were saying their goodnights in the atrium. He closed his eyes and shuddered, keeping his moans in with difficulty as you diligently ensured that every last moment of his orgasm was earth-shattering, even at the risk of being caught this way.

“God, you’re such a freak,” he whispered, as your tongue swiped at the final drops of come beading at the end of his dick.

“Thanks for noticing,” you said, giving him one of his own, self-satisfied little smirks, “Happy birthday.”

You kissed his tip one final time.

Five shook his head, unable to believe his luck, but he couldn’t bask in the afterglow.

Hurriedly, he made himself decent and blinked back around the bar, leaving you to crouch behind it alone.

“Hey Five. You’re still up?”

Luther’s voice. His footsteps were approaching the living room.

“Just off to bed actually,” you heard Five reply, slightly out of breath. At that moment, your dress landed just in front of you, flung over the top of the bar by Five. You reached for it and scrambled to put it on.

“Oh okay,” came Luther’s voice again, slightly disappointed and closer now, “I was gonna have one more drink if you-”

“Um, no!” said Five, stepping between Luther and the bar. I got some margarita left. Let me pour you one.”

“Huh,” Luther sounded pleasantly surprised at this obligingness, “thanks Five.”

Fully dressed now, you straightened up, smoothing your tangled hair and holding a bar towel.

“Oh, hey,” Luther said, sounding even more surprised now, “I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s because I’ve been on my knees for so long.” you said.

This made Five’s head whip around to stare at you. If looks could kill…

“I’ve been cleaning up,” you said, looking directly at Five now and smiling sweetly, “I spilled some tequila.”

“Oh, right,” Luther said, unconcerned and totally unsuspicious.

Five’s lips pursed. Clearly, he intended to deal with you when you got upstairs to bed.

…And you’d make sure you held him to that.

Request masterlist >> HERE

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy smut #the umbrella academy five #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x reader #umbrella academy five x you #five hargreaves x you #five hargreaves x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #number 5 imagine #number 5 x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves x f reader #Spotify

290 notes · View notes