JOTARO KUJO

Jotaro was on full-on husband duty today. No grunts, no "tch," no complaints when he dragged himself out of bed early just to quietly watch you sleep for a solid three minutes before whispering a low, flat “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Then he kissed your forehead. Then he walked off like nothing happened.

He’d already packed the bags the night before—extra clothes, towels, your favorite snacks, even your weirdly specific beach skincare set he made a mental note of months ago. You didn’t even ask. The car was already running when you came outside. Now, the two of you were parked somewhere along the private side of Morioh’s beachline—secluded, warm, and washed golden by the setting sun.

Jotaro stood beside you, leaning on the railing outside your shared little ocean-view rental. His hand rested firmly on your lower back, lazily brushing along your waist. The other hand? Clenched inside his pocket. Still. Still clutching that crinkly foil wrap like it was evidence to a crime he wasn’t sure he was gonna commit.

Condoms.

And he was spiraling in silence.

‘She thinks this is the gift,’ Jotaro thought flatly, watching you messily lick a cone of your favorite overpriced ice cream. ‘She’s not even suspicious. Thought I brought her here just to be nice.’

He glanced down at the shape pressed against his palm inside his pocket. 'This is just the appetizer.’

You were in a swimsuit that was technically modest, but to Jotaro—married or not—it was dangerous. Every time the salt water clung to your skin and made your hair cling to your cheeks like that, it made the quiet, firm resolve in his head tilt dangerously off-axis.

He wasn’t holding them because he was sure he’d use them. He was holding them because he wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t. And the more he thinks of it, the more he intends on leaning on to not using a condom tonight.

He wasn’t even sure why he bought them this morning. Something in him just... twitched when he thought of it.

"You deserve something real," he muttered randomly, more to himself than to you. "Not just meals and sun and overpriced vanilla."

Of course, you didn’t know what he meant. You just blinked and said the ice cream wasn’t overpriced.

Now, Jotaro remained by your side, gaze locked out on the waves, brain pacing behind his sharp eyes. His thumb rubbed over the edge of the wrapper again. He didn’t make moves—yet. It had to be... timed. When you were full. Relaxed. Warm and sleepy. And clueless. It had to be perfect.

He wasn’t gonna ask you for anything. (except consent, of course.)

He was just gonna give it.

And then, it clicked.

You stopped licking your ice cream mid-bite, blinking at nothing in particular.

Because somewhere, in the back of your mind, a realization slowly started to fizzle up and pop like carbonation.

You and Jotaro were married. Happily. Sort of. Even if he was busy all the time. But—

You weren’t a mother.

You didn’t have kids. You barely had a goldfish you both forgot to feed last week.

Why did he say Happy Mother’s Day?

Your head turned slightly, lips parting to speak. But beside you, Jotaro didn’t look at you. He didn’t move. Just kept staring ahead. Cold, unreadable, unmoving. Except—

His thumb pressed harder against his pocket. He's been fidgeting with a thing there ever since this morning. And that was something he wasn't even gonna plan to use anymore. He'll just throw it in a nearby trashcan.

Unknown to you... he was planning on making you a mother tonight.