Extra: Creampie, breeding, dom Jotaro, sub reader, overstimulation, rough
This may be a little short but don’t worry I just am now realizing that taking accelerated courses was my biggest mistake hehe.
~
“I can’t!” You cried out as Jotaro rammed his cock into your dripping cunt. His cum pooling out of your pussy. This wasn’t how Jotaro fucked you before; he wasn’t the type to fuck you with so much control, he let you take control as he didn’t want to put so much effort into fucking you. Now here he is making you be his cum dumpster.
“Jo-“ he placed his tongue into your mouth kissing you passionately attempting to stop your cries of overstimulation. Something was off from the moment Jotaro walked into the house. He went straight after your lips and lifted you up. Now here both of you were passionately kissing while he rams his cock into your sopping cunt.
Two leg shaking orgasm and here is Jotaro wanting to pull a third one out of you. Your cries caused him to pull you closer to his body. His abs gently grazing your naked body. Skin slapping echoed through the room but Jotaro’s grunts became louder and louder his thrusts not once slowing down.
His cock fit perfectly in your velvety walls. In need of support your arms shakily wrapped around his sweat covered skin.
“I’m gonna put a baby in you.” He grunts, keeping your waist in place he made sure that you had the support you looked for. Sweat beads covered his body each thrust forcefully pulling a cry of pleasure from you. His thrust were constant until he thrusted hard into you where he almost let his arms weaken and fall on top of you. He caught himself and his thrust hard were sloppy.
He lowered his face into the nook of your neck and kissed your neck. With three final thrust his kisses turned into love bites and you felt more warm liquids coating your walls.
summary: you're having a hard time. jotaro helps you relax.
pairing: jotaro kujo x fem!reader
warnings: smut, masturbation, fingering, handjob, piv, overstimulation, angst, hurt with comfort, bathroom sex, soft!jotaro,minors clock out pls, barely proofread because uhhh
word count: 2.9k
notes: when life hard, write smut. it may not be good. write anyway.
~☆~
The distant Tokyo cityscape thrummed with life.
It’s picture-esque, you think, how the world presses into the four sides of your little window. You wonder how many stories slide in and out past the panes, carried in by droplets of rain pooling in glistening rivulets.
You listen to it now, life in its familiar monotony.
The weeks had been long, leaving you pulling at strands of hair and limping on broken dreams.
Okay, maybe that was dramatic.
But who were you, otherwise?
Expectation after expectation, responsibility after responsibility, only to be met with insincere apologies and an acrid taste on your tongue.
Very dramatic.
He wasn't, though.
His encouragement was quiet, as if your success was already written into the pages of his mind. Your ethic was never called into question, but existed as a truth, packed into the space between his ribs. He carried hope for you when you couldn't.
In Jotaro's mind, you could do anything.
That steady encouragement hadn't seeped into your skin quite yet, deciding to let scalding water and scented bath soap do that for you.
You press your back into the tub's porcelain wall, the salt of the day settling into your thoughts. It pulls at your tendons and stretches your nerves thin–the weight of hope–how it refuses to settle in your hands, leaving them prickly and aching.
Being an adult felt so out of reach sometimes.
Things were simpler back then, you think.
He walked you home after school until you worked up the nerve to let him step inside. Sometimes you skipped, dragging him to the arcade or a video store because: “We’re only young once!” Even under the jagged exterior of delinquency, he indulged you every time.
You would cross many more thresholds together–early mornings and late nights blossoming into something beautiful and alive.
And life, as it always does, slotted itself between your happiness.
He disappeared, came back, you were upset, you reconciled, and life carried on.
You packed what little you carried from your lives and stuffed it into a cramped apartment right outside the city. Responsibility and the crushing weight of reality settled on top of everything else. You hopped from job to job, class to class, responsibility to expectation as if someone had lit a match under your feet. You danced to a tune you couldn’t hear, trying to avoid scorching what you hadn’t already burned.
You wanted to quit, whatever that meant. A break–some sort of respite from what sat heavy on your chest, threatening to pierce your ribs.
And he noticed.
He always did.
He made life easier for you where he could, filling in the gaps you left behind. The apartment remained clean, your clothes always washed, dinner already made or brought in. He stayed close when you couldn’t be alone, and never strayed far when you needed your space. There was never a conversation, just unburdened care and observation. He listened. Held you. Saw you.
You couldn’t place his devotion for you into words. There wasn’t a sentence you could string together to describe what sat behind his eyes. Maybe you didn’t need to.
The night stretches on, moonlight streaming in as if it had every right to. Your body loosens, ever so slightly.
And then you feel it.
A low, heady pressure in your center.
When was the last time you two made love?
A whispered breath slips past your lips, your trembling hand slipping under bubbles and foam to find the soft folds of skin you left neglected for so long.
Sex was one of the gaps you left open, one that Jotaro never pressured you to fill.
But now, under the honeyed glow of scented candles and pale moonlight, that familiar roiling in your gut sets your nerves on fire. You part your folds, running the pad of your finger along your entrance, circling the ring of muscle you knew so well. Your other hand slides across your soaked breast, and you palm the weight of yourself, thumb and forefinger tweaking your nipple.
You liked the way Jotaro did it, though–the roughness of his fingers, the way they tugged at your skin, sending you somewhere hot and blissful.
Shouldn’t he be home by now?
You file that thought away for later, a low moan buzzing in your chest as you sink a finger between your walls.
“Oh fuck-!”
You slowly pump your finger in and out, sliding in a second as your head fills with cotton and heat. Your mind slips into dangerous territory, somewhere explosive and erotic as you recall passionate nights: the press of his body against yours, the way his fingers filled you just right, how your name curled around your ears.
You continue to fondle your breast as you gush around your fingers, water sloshing around your flushed form and body winds up tight–your release prodding at the tip of your spine. You press your thumb into your clit, moans thickening as you barrel towards your release.
Your skin burns with need, head clinging to thoughts of his cock dragging against your plush walls, that thick vein you loved so much rubbing up against you just right.
You briskly stroke your clit with your thumb, the dual sensation pushing you over into ecstasy.
Your vision goes white-hot, muscles spasming as you buck your hips, riding out your release. The water jostles, slipping from the sides of the tub while your body constricts, cries muting the jingling of keys and the creaking of a door.
You think you hear your name.
Fuck.
Footsteps cross the threshold, heavy and familiar, before his knuckles settle against the bathroom door.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah!” you splutter, “M’fine.”
A pause.
“...can I come in?”
Oh.
You slip in a breath, trying to ground yourself in bubbly water and cool porcelain before you manage to squeak out a small: “Okay.”
He carefully turns the knob and pushes the door open, keen eyes sharpening around the little pocket of heaven you’d curated.
Another pause.
“These candles are a fire hazard.”
You blow, something between exasperation and tired mirth.
“You know just what to say,” you snark.
He says nothing, his large frame crossing the small space to slide the window ajar.
“You’ll let the smell out!”
The dulled sounds of the city sharpen as if coming up for air. The steady pattering of rain is crisp as it echoes against the walls.
His eyes fall onto your form now, soaked and dangerously tempting. He doesn’t miss that familiar flush of skin–the same flush he could coax from you with just his touch alone. Or the way your lids sat heavy over your eyes, pupils wide and pooling with a fading euphoria.
Embarrassment bleeds into the tips of his ears.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt–”
“Just–” you start, settling your neck over the tub’s thick edge, “Just don’t…mention it.”
“...I’ll be in the other–”
“No!” you say, a bit too quickly for your liking. “Stay. Please.”
He looks at you–into you–and feels the quiet pull of his heart, the way it constricts around your vulnerability.
Slowly, he begins to strip.
It’s unhurried and methodical, the clinking of metal and whisper of fabric filling the small space.
You look away for some reason. Normally, you indulged it, eyes roving hungrily over taught muscle and hard lines, but tonight you couldn’t. There was a rawness in the air, sliding alongside lavender and eucalyptus, alongside unspoken anxieties and repressed desire. It sat odd and unfamiliar in your gut, leaving you cracked open in a way you didn’t have words for.
His form closes in on you, and you shift forward, making space behind you where you could.
The water shifts as he sinks into the tub, a low breath slipping past his lips as his muscles loosen. He carefully pulls you into his front, strong thighs pressed against the sides of the tub. You sigh dramatically, pressing your back into his hard torso. He says nothing, silently leaving space for you in your closed embrace. He leans back slightly, and your body follows his own–two minds sharing one soul.
It’s in this silence he’s left for you that you spill, telling him anything and everything that threaded through your mind–a thick foliage of thorns and broken glass.
And he listens.
You tell how it hurts, and why you think it hurts–how the exhaustion settled into your bones, slowly pulling you under like quicksand. How you couldn’t find strength to move. How things didn’t quite turn out like you thought they would. You begin to spiral, words morphing into something bitter and poisonous.
He stops you.
He was never good with his words. But hearing you, just how deeply you were hurting–from your own mouth no less…
He couldn’t stay quiet at that.
“You’ve done what you can. That’s enough,” he says simply.
You hesitate, breath caught on his words.
“It never feels like enough,” you tell him quietly.
“Feelings aren’t always logical.”
You huff at that, the corners of your mouth quirking.
“You’re nothing if not consistent.”
He almost smiles at that.
You sit in comfortable silence for what feels like hours, the sounds of the city thinning into the stretch of the night. It’s domestic intimacy in its purest form–beautiful and alive.
His lips find the curve of your shoulder first.
It’s soft and tentative, gently pressing against the emotional space between you. You arch your back into him with a groan, desire simmering under your skin as if held over an open flame. His plush lips tenderly caress the soft skin of your shoulder, moving back towards your collarbone before planting themselves at your neck. He can read your body better than any textbook or migration pattern; the way you arch against him, how your whimpers spoke to him when you couldn’t, how and where you grew warm under his touch.
The now cold bathwater felt so, so hot.
His teeth tug at the soft skin of your neck before smattering it with heavy open-mouthed kisses, claiming you utterly and fully. He gently bites down, sucking hickeys into you like unspoken promises. Warmth bleeds across your body like watercolor on canvas, cast in lustful shades of rose and crimson. He continues his assault on your neck and shoulders as his other hand comes to caress your breast. The dull ache at your core sharpens into something wanton and needy as his fingers roll your nipple just right.
Then he squeezes, the soft flesh spilling in between his fingers.
“Mmmm, Jotaro…”
“Is this what you wanted?” He husks, hot breath tickling your neck.
Goosebumps erupt across your skin, your nipples beautifully hard and aching. He shifts his attention to your other breast, mesmerized at how the skin prunes and puckers under his touch. You turn your head, catching his lips in a searing kiss as he touches you, his other hand slipping under the water to cup your sex.
He lets out a low moan when you whimper.
Even underwater, he can feel how slick you are, thick fingers lazily stroking your entrance as his tongue slides into your mouth. You suck on it while he swallows your moans, his middle finger nudging at your entrance.
You hum into his mouth, legs parting to grant him entry.
Your lips briefly separate with a wet pop! when you cry out, gripping his heavy arm as he deftly sinks a second finger into your heat. He skillfully thrusts his digits into you, curling them in a way that has you gripping the sides of the tub like a lifeline.
Your breaths are thick and heavy, pupils blown wide, and eyes glazing over in pure bliss. He continues to fondle your breasts as you keen and whimper, spine crackling with electricity as you near your release.
“Right there, oh fuck–right there!”
It’s the pad of his thumb against your clit that does you in.
Water slips from the tub, a choked sob tumbling through your teeth while he keeps his pace, your release slickening his fingers as he rides out your high with you. He pants into your neck, the sharp planes of his face burning with desire. Your gummy walls spasm around his fingers, cries ripping from your throat in tandem.
He holds you through it, slowing his fingers when your pleasure finally settles.
You go limp against his torso, breath smoothing out as your muscles loosen.
And you feel it.
Long and thick and rock-hard against your back.
Wordlessly, you shift, fragrant water rippling just under your bosom. Your body moves on instinct, spine tethered to the strings of your desire. His eyes gleam under the low light, cerulean pools deepening with carefully restrained yearning.
He parts his muscular thighs, silently begging for your touch.
His cock sits smooth and painfully hard in your hands, and you meet his darkening gaze as you begin to stroke him. The broad expanse of his chest heaves under your touch, length shuttering while you work his cock, your other hand moving to grope his heavy balls.
The sounds of shifting water and his low groans fill the stifling space, the friction of your shared desire thickening the air around you. The desire to please him sits sinfully on your chest; you want–need to show him just how much you burned for him, how the acidity of reality could never corrode your love for him.
You pump his shaft in a practiced motion, the skin warm and slick under the water’s surface. His grunts and groans clatter around in your ears, sending electricity straight to your wet cunt. The flushed tip of his cock drools, thick length twitching and impossibly stiff in your hands. You slow your movements, circling the pad of your thumb around the bloodshot head.
“Goddamn, woman–” he rasps, trying to keep his head upright.
He keeps his eyes glued to your form: your flushed face, the focused furrow of your brow, the way the light glimmered around your bare curves…
He couldn’t take it.
In an almost desperate motion, his hands find the curve of your waist, hoisting you upwards to straddle his dick.
You waste no time.
You take him inch by burning inch, cunt squelching as you sink down onto his impressive length. Water laps at the edge of the tub, spilling onto cool tile, but neither of you care. Your arms close in around his neck–his head falling into the gentle curve of your shoulder. His large hands steady themselves at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
The heat joining your bodies has your blood jumping.
Your ass meets the base of his shaft, and you curse, pressing your breasts into his chest as you take the time to adjust.
It burns, but in the way that leaves nerves frayed and your mind numb, in the way that leaves you nearly sobbing into his neck.
You didn’t realize how badly you needed him–how the feeling of him wrapped you in a reverent tenderness, dispelling all anxiety and doubt. His closeness, the heat of it, remained a balm to your soul, something you allowed to slip away into the current of life.
Carefully, you rock your hips.
The wet drag of his cock pulling at your aching walls has you reciting prayers. His hips find an intoxicating rhythm: not too fast, but just enough to keep you both suspended right over white-hot bliss. That thick vein slides against you deliciously, and you try to stifle your screams.
“Fuck, Jotaro…ah-!”
His low moans follow yours like some erotic call and response.
You both pick up speed, his hips bucking up into you feverishly as you ride him into oblivion.
Grunts and groans and the sloshing of water reverberate between the walls, the air perfumed with sweat and sex.
He pants into your neck like a dog, grip on your waist almost bruising as he bullies your cunt.
“Good fucking grief,” he breathes.
The pressure in your center rears its head, threatening to pull you over the edge. You feel the way his muscles tighten around you–the way his cock swells between your velvety walls, and it nearly brings you to tears.
“Oh god!”
The floor is drenched, slick with the evidence of your passion as you both find solace in each other’s warmth.
He knows you’re close, angling his hips to piston into the spot that had you seeing stars.
You fall over the edge with a scream.
Your body convulses in his hold, jaw going slack while your cunt pulses violently around his cock, coaxing his release.
His eyes lock on to yours, the way they always do when he’s about to spill over the edge.
A growl rips from his throat, thrusts erratic and length spasming. He chases his orgasm, hips knocking against your puffy hole leaving you numbed and boneless.
Then he keens, eyes squeezing shut as thick, hot ropes of cum splatter against your walls. His back slumps against the tub’s edge, and you collapse against his chest, limbs heavy, but heart lighter than before.
And you stay like this for a while: two lovers coming down from their combined high, white rays of moonlight settling over your bodies with celestial authority. His arm rests against your back, holding you in the way he’s wanted to for weeks now. In the way that you needed to be held.
germansingergirl
vaporwave
2087
