JJBA one shots (jotaro kujo x reader)

It had been a few days since the whole incident with the page you ate. The Crusaders, still teasing you from time to time and had learned to be a little more careful with their jokes, especially after the "Pen Incident" where you'd been quick to defend your notebook. It wasn't that they didn't still find the whole thing amusing, but everyone knew now: Y/N's notebook was off-limits—unless you were Polnareff, of course.

One afternoon, you had been caught up in a discussion with the group about their next destination. With everyone distracted, you absentmindedly placed your notebook on the table near the others. It was a rare moment where you weren't clutching it to your chest, and for Polnareff, it was the perfect opportunity.

He leaned over, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he spotted the open notebook. The temptation was just too much. He reached for it, just about to peek inside, when a voice cut through the air, cool and calm.

"Polnareff," Jotaro said sharply, eyes narrowing. "If you touch that notebook, I won't help you if Y/N stabs you."

Polnareff paused, looking up at Jotaro with an exaggerated look of innocence. "Oh, come on, Jotaro! You don't really think she'll mind, do you? It's just a little peek..."

But Polnareff wasn't one to drop things so easily. "Jotaro," he said, still grinning. "Are you curious, too? What's inside that notebook? I mean, you've gotta be, right? You've seen how much time she spends writing in it. You're always so stoic, but don't tell me you're not interested in her poetry or whatever."

Jotaro stared at him, unamused. He wasn't about to admit to anything. "I don't like to pry into other people's business, Polnareff. It's none of my concern."

Polnareff's grin faded, his expression turning thoughtful for a moment. He was about to say something else when Jotaro turned his back and walked away, the conversation was clearly over.

Left alone with the notebook, Polnareff sighed, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. There was another thing he wants to know based what just happened now. Was Jotaro lying? Was he really not curious? He looked around the room quickly—no one was paying attention—and then, with a quiet breath, he picked up the notebook.

For a moment, he hesitated, remembering Jotaro's warning. But the temptation was too strong. He flipped open the first page and began to skim.

The first few lines were exactly as he expected—poetry. Beautiful, heartfelt words that seemed to come from the depths of the heart. Polnareff was starting to feel like he might be intruding on something personal when he turned to the next page.

This time, it wasn't a poem. It was a drawing of Jotaro.

It was simple, yet incredibly detailed. The shading was precise, the likeness uncanny. But what caught Polnareff off guard was the emotion conveyed in the piece—the care and admiration in every line of the sketch. He had to admit, it was impressive. Even Jotaro's aloof, distant nature was captured perfectly in your art.

The realization hit Polnareff all at once. You weren't just writing about Jotaro for fun, or because he was the easiest subject to write about. You had real feelings for him. He was just too dense to see it before.

"Damn," Polnareff muttered to himself. "Y/N's got it bad."

The notebook slipped from his hands, and he quickly put it back in its place on the table, just as someone else walked into the room. It was Jotaro. His eyes flicked to the notebook for a second before moving back to Polnareff, who had been caught mid-suspicion.

"Don't even think about it," Jotaro said, his voice stern.

Polnareff grinned sheepishly, not daring to tease Jotaro any further. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I wasn't gonna do anything."

But the seed of curiosity had been planted. Polnareff wasn't the only one who'd been curious about the notebook. The thoughts Polnareff had briefly skimmed through lingered in Jotaro's mind. Why had she been so protective of it? What was so special about the notebook? More than that, Jotaro found himself thinking about the words he had caught glimpses of when Polnareff had been teasing him.

But the more he thought about it, the more his mind drifted back to the words you had written, the way you had hidden so much in those lines. It was... intriguing. He hadn't expected to feel this way. And, frankly, it bothered him a little. You were someone who kept to it yourself, so why was he feeling this strange urge to know more about you?

Jotaro couldn't stop thinking about your writing.

A few days later, after an intense battle and some down time with the group, Jotaro found himself alone with your notebook, which had been carelessly left on the table again.

His heart pounded as he glanced around the room. The others were still talking, distracted. His hands hovered over the notebook for a moment before he quickly flipped it open, scanning the pages. The words, once again, were beautiful—but this time, he didn't just read them. He absorbed them.

The second poem he read felt oddly familiar. It was almost as if you were speaking directly to him, as though you had captured his essence in your words.

There was no denying it anymore—he was fascinated. But what should he do about it?

Without overthinking, Jotaro grabbed a pen from his pocket and started writing.

For the first time, he found himself creating something of his own. He wasn't sure where it was going, but he wanted to write something back. Something to show you that he understood, or maybe just to respond to the feelings you had shared in your poem.

He scribbled quickly:

"I'm not one for words, but sometimes... silence says more than any poem ever could."

He stared at it for a long moment, unsure if he'd even have the courage to give it to you. What if it was too much? What if you saw it as some kind of strange intrusion?

But then again... wasn't that what you did? You shared your feelings in writing, so maybe this was just another way of communicating, even if it was unconventional.

With a sigh, Jotaro folded the paper and slipped it into your notebook. He felt a strange mix of embarrassment and anticipation. Would you read it? Would you understand what he was trying to say?

The next day, you would find a note tucked carefully inside in your notebook, and for a moment, neither of you would know quite what to say. But that, Jotaro thought, was the start of something new.