Work Text:
The sun shone brightly in the corner of your rearview mirror as you drove along the Santa Ana Freeway. Surprisingly, the traffic was not too crowded, considering it was one of the most popular highways in the city. The clock read 8:41 a.m. There were roughly twenty minutes left before work.
Looking over and letting out a sigh, you realized you could have taken the time to do your makeup. At least you had your eyelash extensions to make you feel somewhat prettier. It was unfortunate, especially because you had a meeting today with a very important researcher from Japan. From what you had heard, he was highly respected for the new species he had discovered in the ocean. He had specifically flown over from Florida and would be spending the next six months exploring the shores of Los Angeles.
To be honest, you were nervous.
You were still new to the field. You had only graduated with your master's degree a month ago, and with all the chaos that had been going on in your love life, you had finally decided it was time to take this position seriously. You wanted to earn your PhD within the next year, and this felt like the first real step toward that goal.
Eventually, you arrived at the UCLA parking lot, not even realizing you had reached your destination because you had been so lost in thought. As you stepped out of the car, you adjusted your flared pants at the waist. Your Tommy Hilfiger platform shoes gripped the backs of your heels so tightly that you already knew they would leave painful calluses later. Locking the car behind you, you took a sip of your coffee and headed toward the entrance.
After taking the elevator upstairs, you entered Room 365 to leave your purse, noticing that nobody else was there yet. The bathroom was two doors to the left, so you quickly went in to fix your hair. It had become frizzy during the drive, and you attempted to smooth it down with water gathered in your palms. The blue blouse you were wearing was slightly wrinkled, so you tried to flatten the fabric with your hands, though it did little to help.
Glancing down at your Cartier watch, you noticed there was only one minute left until 9:00 a.m. Realizing this, you quickly made your way back toward the meeting room.
As you approached the door, you noticed a huge man already sitting in one of the office chairs, carefully looking over the documents spread across the table. He was tall—far taller than anyone you had expected.
A white hat bearing a Lucky Land emblem rested atop his head, strangely blending with his pitch-black wavy hair. A long, coat-like white jacket hung from his shoulders, nearly brushing the floor because of its length. The man wore two belts around his waist and a black turtleneck that made the veins in his neck stand out prominently.
As your eyes traveled over him, you noticed gold-plated studs pierced through both of his ears. The combination of his unusual clothing, towering height, and calm concentration made him difficult to look away from.
"Hello, my name is Y/N L/N. I'm from the field of oceanography with the MOC Association. I was told I would be meeting a researcher from Japan today. I assume that's you, correct?" you asked as you carefully made your way across the room in your heels before taking a seat beside him.
The man slowly turned his head toward you, his expression carrying an unmistakable air of boredom. Now that you could see him clearly, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.
Although he possessed the features of an Asian man, there was something about him that seemed almost foreign, something that made him stand out. His dark green eyes reflected your image back at you, and for a moment, you found yourself lost in thought. His lips were full, and there was a seriousness to his presence that made him seem intimidating without even trying.
"Jotaro Kujo."
He extended his left hand toward you in greeting.
You gladly accepted the handshake. The moment his hand enveloped yours, you realized just how large his hands really were. His grip was firm, but not painful, and somehow that only made you more aware of him.
"I wanted to discuss the files you've already had a chance to look through," you said, slowly withdrawing your hand and flipping open the pages laid out before you.
"You don't need to explain," he replied. "I've already taken the time to review the objective."
The sound of his voice caught you off guard. It was deep—much deeper than you had expected. Everything about him seemed overwhelmingly masculine, from his broad frame to the calm confidence with which he spoke.
"Oh. Okay." You quickly cleared your throat. "Our lab is located on the third floor. I can show you around, if you'd like."
"That would be great."
His voice remained completely monotone, as if very little in the world was capable of impressing him.
His expressionless face made you slightly uneasy. Or perhaps that was simply the way he was.
No smile.
No nod.
No visible excitement.
Nothing.
The two of you stood and made your way out of the conference room. For the next twenty minutes, you guided him through the facility, showing him the laboratories, equipment, and research stations while introducing him to your colleagues along the way.
Throughout the tour, his expression hardly changed at all.
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“Microscopic life is a bit different in the Pacific Ocean. The Atlantic is narrower and receives more wind-blown dust and river runoff, which promotes more diverse, iron-rich phytoplankton. The Pacific is older and wider, leading to iron-stressed surface waters,” Jotaro explained.
There was a subtle shift in him as he spoke—just a slight lift in his eyebrows, a faint spark of engagement breaking through his usual restraint. It wasn’t much, but with him, it felt significant. You found yourself holding onto it anyway.
You nodded, fingers moving across your keyboard as you typed.
A month had passed like this—constant meetings, shared research, late discussions over data and hypotheses. Your project together was nearing completion, and the final presentation was scheduled for today. Everything had to be precise. Everything had to be right.
Across the table, Jotaro leaned slightly closer to the microscope, one eye narrowed as he adjusted the focus. The movement was deliberate, controlled—but the closer angle revealed details you hadn’t noticed before.
A faint marking on his left shoulder, just visible where his navy-blue shirt shifted at the collar. A star-like shape, barely exposed.
A tattoo?
It didn’t seem like him. That was what unsettled you. Or intrigued you. You weren’t sure anymore. When you looked closer, it almost didn’t feel like ink at all—more like something else entirely, something natural. But the thought slipped away as you forced your attention back to your screen, typing out notes while he continued speaking through hypotheses and correlations.
Then—
“When are you going to stop doing that?” he said, still adjusting the microscope, his voice steady and low.
Your hands paused. “Doing what?”
“Staring and examining me.”
Your throat tightened slightly.
“You’ve been doing it since we met,” he continued, not looking at you yet. “Come to think of it, you observe everything like that. When you look at someone, it’s easy to read your expression.”
A quiet, almost embarrassed laugh escaped you. “I never realized. I thought I was being subtle.”
That earned something rare.
A shift.
Jotaro’s mouth curved—barely there, but unmistakable. A smile. Not loud, not warm in an obvious way, but brief and real enough that it changed the entire atmosphere of the room.
And for some reason, it made your chest tighten.
You’d seen him every day for a month, and still, moments like that felt unfamiliar—like discovering something private about someone who never meant to be understood.
By the time the coffee ran out and fifteen pages of report were drafted, the work was finally complete.
“Okay,” Jotaro said, straightening slightly. “Send it over to Mr. Alshami, and request a clip microphone in advance.”
You turned toward him, narrowing your eyes slightly. He met your gaze immediately.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It felt… weighted. Like he was waiting for something you hadn’t said yet.
“One microphone?” you repeated, confused. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kujo, but even if you have a PhD and I don’t, that doesn’t mean you can just take over the presentation—”
“No,” he interrupted calmly. “I was thinking you would be the only one presenting.”
That stopped you.
Your breath caught slightly, more from surprise than disagreement. “That’s not okay either. We should both be presenting. This is our work. If something’s wrong, just tell me what needs fixing—”
“No, it's not that” he said again.
Just that. Final. Certain.
Frustration flickered through you, warm and sharp, and you rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself. “Mr. Kujo…” you began, then hesitated, recalibrating your tone. “First, I would appreciate not being interrupted. Second, if you don’t have any issues with the project, then you will be on stage with me at seven tonight. I am not being abandoned last minute.”
For the first time, his expression changed more noticeably.
His eyes widened just slightly—not in shock exactly, but in something closer to being caught off guard. And yet, he still didn’t look away.
It felt like he was studying you now instead of the data, as if you had become the more interesting variable in the room.
The air between you tightened in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
You quickly gathered your things, suddenly too aware of your own heartbeat.
“I’ll tell Mr. Alshami—two microphones,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. You paused at the door just long enough to add, “Be there at seven sharp.”
And then you left, aware—uncomfortably aware—that his gaze stayed on you even after you were gone.
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After two hours at your vanity, you finally finished getting ready. A final mist of setting spray sealed your makeup in place as you studied your reflection.
The black Odin dress hugged your figure, paired with YSL heels with the red accent at the back. Your hair was styled in a half-up, half-down look—soft, deliberate. Vivienne Westwood earrings caught the light every time you moved, and a waist-snatching brown suit jacket pulled everything together with sharp precision. Your Coach bag matched your top, and your Cartier watch sat on your wrist like a habit you never questioned anymore.
You took one last look at yourself in the entrance mirror.
Then—two sharp car honks from outside.
You paused.
When you opened the door, a Toyota Land Cruiser was already parked in front of your place.
Jotaro Kujo was in the driver’s seat.
He wore a dark blue suit with no tie, the collar of his shirt slightly open underneath. Without his usual hat, his presence felt different—less concealed, more exposed in a way he probably wouldn’t appreciate being named.
He stepped out without hurry and walked around the car to open the passenger door for you.
“What are you doing here out of the blue?” you asked, still half inside your doorway.
“I thought,” he said simply, “since this is our project, we should go together.”
You hesitated for a second, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait. How did you even know my address?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned down slightly against the roof of the car, close enough to meet your eye level as you settled into the seat.
“You told me,” he said. “A while ago. When we were finishing the annotated bibliography overnight. We never actually made it here, but you said it then.”
The memory hit you slowly—late nights, coffee going cold, papers spread out too far across too little space. Somewhere between equations and exhaustion, personal details must have slipped through.
You blinked once, surprised. “You actually remembered that?”
His gaze didn’t shift away, but there was something almost quieter in it now. Not softer—just more aware.
For a brief moment, you thought about how many things you had said around him without realizing he was listening that closely.
And how little you actually knew about him, despite the hours.
You knew fragments—enough to make him feel human, but never enough to fully piece him together.
Something about a past marriage. A wife he no longer spoke about. A daughter mentioned only once, like it belonged to a different version of his life. He never offered details, and you never asked again.
It didn’t feel like a topic he avoided.
It felt like a life he had already closed a door on.
He straightened and got back into the driver’s seat, the conversation ending as naturally as it began. The seatbelt clicked into place.
You watched him for a moment longer than you meant to.
The engine started.
As he reversed out of the parking space, one arm rested casually along the back of your seat, his attention shifting over his shoulder with precise control. The movement was practiced, almost instinctive—like he was used to being in control of space, direction, outcome.
You noticed things like that more than you should. It strangely turned you on.
The Land Cruiser rolled forward into the street.
Outside, the city moved like it always did—unbothered, loud, indifferent. Inside, the space between you felt strangely contained, like the world had been reduced to the quiet rhythm of the car and the occasional shift of his hand on the wheel.
After a few minutes, he spoke again.
“You mentioned you were almost married once.”
You turned slightly toward him.
It wasn’t framed as curiosity. It wasn’t gentle either. It was simply direct, like everything else he said.
“I was,” you admitted after a pause. “Almost.”
“And?”
You let out a small breath through your nose, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “And it didn’t work out, we wanted different things”
He didn’t respond right away. Why was he bringing this up now?
The silence didn’t feel awkward—just full.
Eventually, the venue came into view.
Jotaro pulled up with the same calm precision he did everything else, parking as if he had done it a thousand times before in places just like this.
Before you could open the door, you realized your hand had already tightened slightly around your bag strap.
“You’re quiet today,” you said, glancing at him.
His eyes flicked briefly toward you.
“I usually am,” he replied.
That, somehow, felt like the most honest thing he had said all day.
He opened the door on your side before you could even reach for the handle.
For a moment, you hesitated.
Jotaro Kujo, holding a car door open for you, didn’t quite fit the version of him you had built in your head. You had expected indifference at best, impatience at worst—maybe a sharp word, maybe nothing at all.
Instead, he stood there briefly, offering his hand as you stepped out.
His grip was steady when you took it, lifting you with an ease that felt almost instinctive.
You hadn’t thought of him as the gentleman type.
From what you had seen before, he didn’t tolerate interruptions kindly. He was blunt, sometimes abrasive, and more than willing to shut people down with a few sharp words—or something worse, depending on the situation. And yet, none of that was here now.
Just quiet control.
Was this an exception?
Or were you?
You let the thought sit in the back of your mind as you both made your way toward the entrance of the hall.
Inside, the space opened into something far more elaborate than you expected. A long table stretched across the room, covered in appetizers arranged with careful precision, alongside bottles of expensive wine catching the light. Conversations layered over one another—researchers, professionals, people from your field all gathered for the same event, each one carrying the quiet importance of their work.
You and Jotaro paused just inside.
A shared glance passed between you—brief, unspoken, almost instinctive.
Then he looked away first.
“You look nice, by the way,” he said quietly, so low it almost blended into the noise around you.
Before you could fully process it, he was already reaching for a glass of wine.
And then, just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.
Like the moment had never needed to exist at all.
But it lingered anyway.
You stood there for a second longer than you meant to, the words replaying in your mind in a way that made your thoughts feel suddenly too loud. It wasn’t a grand compliment. It wasn’t dramatic or carefully delivered.
That was what made it dangerous.
Because coming from him, it meant something precisely because it didn’t try to.
Heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it.
You exhaled, forcing yourself back into motion, smoothing out your expression as you joined your coworkers near the table. Small talk picked up quickly—names, updates, polite laughter—but part of your attention stayed elsewhere, aware of where he had gone without needing to look.
The event was beginning soon.
And somehow, the air already felt different than when you walked in.
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The crowd was still cheering as you both stood on stage after presenting your research. A brief smile crossed your face as Jotaro reached for your hand. Together, you took a respectful bow toward the audience.
When you stepped down from the stage, the staircase proved a little unsteady in your heels. Without a word, Jotaro stayed close, his hand remaining in yours as he steadied your pace.
You looked up at him mid-step—and for a moment, you froze.
He was smiling.
Not faintly. Not a smirk. A real, unguarded smile that reached his face fully, brief but unmistakable.
It disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared, but you were certain you hadn’t imagined it.
Around you, colleagues and attendees came forward with congratulations, offering firm handshakes and praise as you moved through the hall together.
After a series of brief conversations and polite exchanges, the evening had already slipped into night.
9:00 p.m.
You stood beside Jotaro near the refreshment table, pouring another glass of Pinot Noir before offering it to him.
“I’ve had enough to drink tonight,” he said flatly.
“Come on,” you replied with a light chuckle. “A whole month of struggling, pages and pages of work—you’re really not going to celebrate this?”
He glanced at you, silent for a moment, before finally accepting the glass.
“How many have you had?” he asked.
“Three,” you said with a small smile.
“Isn’t that a lot?” His tone carried something closer to concern than judgment.
“Don’t worry,” you said. “My tolerance is pretty high.”
“You didn’t mention you were a heavy drinker, Ms. L/N,” he said, taking a slow sip from his glass.
The way he said your last name made something in your chest tighten.
A quiet, unfamiliar pull settled in your stomach—warm, sudden, impossible to ignore. And the fact that his gaze briefly lingered on your lips only made it worse.
Dammit, Kujo.
Why do you keep doing that to me?
He tilted his head slightly as he poured himself another glass, then lifted it toward you.
“A toast,” he said.
“To what?” you asked.
He met your eyes.
“To our collaboration.”
The glasses met with a soft clink.
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Jotaro was breathing hard as he dug his lips deeper into yours, his tongue exploring yours while he fumbled with the apartment door. You were so focused on him that you didn't take in your surroundings the way you normally would. Every memory before this moment blurred at the edges. How did I get here? The thought surfaced and sank just as quickly.
One hand gripped your waist, the other cradling the right side of your neck as he poured himself into the kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the other bracing against his shoulder. You wanted to freeze this moment, trap it in amber. Maybe it was the wine, but every movement felt amplified, your senses overwhelmed and raw. You never imagined you'd have this man-hot and whining-twining his tongue with yours.
You walked toward the bedroom together, kicking off your shoes without breaking contact. He was hungry for it. His kisses carried the weight of someone who'd been waiting ages. His hands roamed your body, sliding beneath your back to find the zipper of your dress. Before you knew it, you were falling backward onto his king-sized bed, your body sinking into the mattress.
Breathing hard, he took a moment to strip off his suit and unbutton his blouse. His body was bulk-clear six-pack, broad shoulders, thick biceps. You knew Kujo was strong, but God, he was beautiful like this. He looked up at you.
"Wait, you're pretty drunk," he said, hesitating. The slur in his words betrayed him-he was drunk too, though he'd never admit it.
"I told you, Kujo, I'm fiiiiiiiiiiine." You grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into another kiss, voice plaintive. He gave in easily, shedding the rest of his blouse and throwing it to the floor. Then he was at your neck, kissing each inch with deliberate attention, drawing quiet whimpers from you. He noted where you moaned loudest and returned there, making you squirm, your legs pressing together.
You reached for his belt. Dammit, why did he have to wear two?
Meanwhile, he was tugging your zipper down, pulling the dress off to reveal your black Victoria's Secret push-up bra. He eased each strap down slowly, playfully. You finally got his pants down and yanked them straight off; he kicked them to the floor.
"Fuck." He pulled back, breathing deep. "You are so beautiful like this."
Not enduring another second, you rose to your knees on the bed, unclipped your bra, slipped off your dress, and fixed your eyes on his boxers. Hot precum had already darkened the fabric near his cock. You licked your lips. He pushed your hair back from your face.
You pulled his boxers down and froze. His length didn't just arouse you-it was almost intimidating. You knew Jotaro was big; the man was six-foot-five. But the circumference seemed enormous, not ideal for your mouth.
You gulped audibly. He cupped your face. "It's okay. You don't have to do this. I'm already hard as it is."
"No. I want to." You started working around his tip, licking and teasing. He grunted, pleasure rumbling through him. His hand stayed on your head, steadying himself. You ran your tongue from base to tip, hitting every sensitive spot. He dropped his head back.
You decided how badly you wanted this-and took him whole, reaching the back of your throat.
He made a sound almost like a moan. "Y-you sure? F-fuck, this feels amazing, but..." He took a deep breath. "Are you okay?"
You nodded, his cock still filling your mouth, your hands gripping the bedsheets below.
He kept his hands in your hair, guiding you. The gag reflex hit, tears pricking your eyes. You looked up at him. He was biting his lower lip, eyes unfocused.
Reading your face, he pulled out. You choked, coughing. "Are you okay, Y/N?" he asked again.
Frustration snapped through you. "Good God, stop being such a pussy," you complained. His face lit with surprise, eyes locking onto yours. "Go as hard as you want."
You shoved him back into your mouth. Hearing your desire, he obliged.
Gentle pushes became harsh thrusts of his hips, driving in and out of you. Tears streamed down your face, ruining your eye makeup. The gulping and moaning from your mouth only spurred him on. As he sped up, you looked up at him-and he lost control.
Hot cum rushed down your throat as he released you. He panted faster, grunting, savoring every second. Seeing you on your knees below him had been his fantasy since he met you. After choking and gagging, you swallowed, the rawness in your throat fading. He grabbed your chin, wiping the excess from your face.
"I wanna taste you," he whispered, pushing you back onto the bed, kissing your neck, drawing harder moans from you. He moved down to your breasts, fondling one while teasing the other's nipple with his tongue. The sensation made you squirm and cry out.
"J-Jotaro," you whined. "Don't tease, please, I beg you, fuck!"
"You know, ever since I encountered your attitude today, I couldn't stop thinking about you," he said, playing with your nipple as you moaned. "I've wanted to see you like this forever."
He closed his mouth fully over your nipple. You gasped and started rolling your panties down.
He slapped your hand away, pulling back. "Don't move. I'll do the work."
He finished what you started, slipping the panties off your legs. Suddenly his fingers were on your clit while he sucked your nipple. You squirmed, thrashing side to side, moaning uncontrollably.
He withdrew his fingers and pulled away again. "I won't continue unless you stop moving."
The absence left you desperate. You nodded.
"Yes, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you breathed, needing his mouth on you again.
"You're already so wet," he said, then continued. His lips traveled lower, reaching your dripping pussy. He sucked your clit and you felt the vibration through your whole body, the urge to squirm overwhelming. But you had to stay still. So you screamed instead-a sound between moan and gasp-and Jotaro cut it off by shoving two fingers into your mouth.
He kept circling your most sensitive spot, making you wetter, then pulled his fingers from your mouth and thrust them suddenly into your entrance. You gasped, loud and sharp. He paused, letting you catch your breath, waiting for your signal.
You nodded. He slowly began pushing his thick fingers in and out.
"You're clenching around my fingers, goddamn," he said, impressed.
You kept moaning, letting every sound escape.
"Let it out," he said quietly. "Good girl. You haven't moved either."
The thought made your stomach knot. You were close.
"I-I can't take it," you protested, almost yelling.
"Yes you can, baby. This is for your own good."
You hated to admit it, but he was right. After having him in your mouth, you understood how he was going to fit inside you-and you needed to be prepped.
He put his mouth back on your clit. You broke down. Electricity flooded through you as you chanted his name, and just as you were about to come, he pulled his fingers out and crushed his mouth to yours.
You shoved at his chest, pulling away. "What the fuck? I was almost there!"
He chuckled and positioned his hard, dripping tip at your entrance. His head was buried in your neck; your fingers tangled in his wavy hair.
Then he drove into you fully, rough and fast, no warning. You gasped loudly, your entrance burning with pleasure. He kept grunting.
"God, you're so tight."
Still reeling from the push, you moaned out, "Jotaro...a-aaa-aah," sounds mixing with grunts.
"You can take it, baby. It's okay." He pulled out and thrust back in, slow and precise, hitting every spot you needed. You wrapped your legs around his torso, moaning harder than before.
Hearing you, he picked up his pace. As he pushed in and out, he pulled his face from your neck to look at your wrecked expression. Sweat dripped from his forehead; his grunts intensified. Those deep green eyes that always lingered on your lips were now full of passion. This wasn't a hookup. The touch, the intensity, the electricity between you-this was something more. This was coming from love.
Skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your heavy, breathless moans. Your stomach churned. You yelled out, "Jotaro...I-I'm gonna-"
"Me too, baby."
He sped up more, never looking away. It felt like he was drowning in your eyes, filled with admiration and passion. He pushed so hard your cervix ached, nearly numb, and suddenly everything in you rushed forward and you came down, his name rolling off your tongue in chants. You gripped the bedsheets, legs shaking, riding every second. He didn't slow. After four seconds, hot liquid filled you as he panted harder. Euphoria and pain, mixed.
"Oh shit, shit, shit, shit," he exclaimed, realizing what he'd done, and pulled straight out.
"It's fine," you puffed, still catching your breath. "I'm on the pill."
His face-concern and fear-cleared. He collapsed on top of you, skin slick with sweat, and you realized how soaked the bedsheets had become. After a minute, Jotaro got up, pulled his boxers back on, and tucked you into his duvet.
"Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water?"
Still recovering, you managed, "Tea."
He went to the kitchen on the first floor to fetch it. You lay there in disbelief. This was the best you'd ever had, and you couldn't imagine being in a relationship with your co-worker-especially a man like Jotaro Kujo.
Footsteps on the stairs. He'd sobered up, while your head still spun with lust and confusion. He helped you sit up so you could sip the tea, moving a strand of hair from your face.
"I hope I wasn't too rough, Y/N."
"No. I enjoyed every bit of it." You smiled.
He kissed your forehead. After some time, you both fell asleep on his mattress, him cuddling you from behind. His touch was warm, comfortable-everything you'd ever wanted.