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staripheral · 3 years

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❛ 𝙨𝙩. 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠'𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙮 ❜

𝙧𝙤𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙚 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘹, 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘬𝘢, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭; 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗲 / 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮

𝙤 𝙘 𝙩 𝙤 𝙗 𝙚 𝙧 , 1 9 9 9

‘HONESTLY, how can a fabulous mangaka, such as myself, get any inspiration from this lousy place?’ Rohan thought to himself, sitting in one of the most extremely uncomfortable seats that the local Morioh-Cho Cafe had to offer. The cafe was often an attraction for college students in the afternoon to have scrumptious food and drink while they crammed in at the last minute studying for quizzes and completed assignments. Feeling unlike his magnificent self, Rohan had made the questionable choice of visiting the cafe during early hours of the day, in desperate need of inspiration for the future planning of Pink Dark Boy.

When the self-absorbed man approached the cafe, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his baggy pants— which were made of such soft, warm material to protect him from the nippy air —and sketch pad tightly tucked in the crook of his arm, he took note of the fewer number of customers. Rohan figured he would seat himself and wait for his desired muse to appear and send him along on his artistic endeavor. It was also nice to get out of his humongous, empty home and enjoy the weather before the snow was destined to trap people inside; not that he minded either or as long as he could work.

The seat cushion of his wooden chair was intolerable, literally incomparable to the lavish desk chair he sat on whilst drawing in his office. It creaked under his occasional shift to reposition his view of the cafe interior. A few times he had tried to capture the image of the baristas at work, but they seemed so dull and slow-moving. The lack of business was of no help, of course. Most customers sat and stared off into their own dream land, a drab expression on their face as if mourning the regrets they had made to come to this dreary point in life. Amusing, but nothing worthy of his precious time and ink.

As if time couldn’t move any slower, Rohan rolled his eyes in silence. Soft jazz music echoed throughout the quaint spot, providing some entertainment rather than none. Of course, it wasn’t Rohan’s preference of music, but it wasn’t as if anything ever did meet his acquired tastes. And nothing ever would, certainly. Or at least he had thought.

The mangaka was about to give up his mission before a chime rang out in the air, bringing his attention from the brown-tiled floor to a beautiful woman who had decided to wander into the saddest-looking cafe in Morioh. Instantly, the monotonous blend of colors in the cafe seemed to brighten; the neatly-knit sweater dyed a powder blue that matched that of a hydrangea in early spring, complimenting her snow white skirt— curiously worn at the beginning of such a cold season —and her flattering flats that click-clacked on her way to the front brought life to the static coffee shop.

His fingers clenched around the sketching pen that lay in his calloused hand. Someone of notability had finally appeared and Rohan had to make sure that he captured her grace as she guided herself to the ordering station towards the back of the shop. He raced to turn the next page in his sketchbook, glancing back and forth between the female and every other page he turned. By the time he had finally found an empty page in his filled sketchpad, she had ordered quickly and sat herself carefully and placed her chin in her dainty palm, eyes remaining on the pedestrians walking along the sidewalk. In her other hand, she toyed with something in her hand; though Rohan’s eyes were excellent in capturing details, he was not sure what she held with her. It made him want to venture closer.

‘What a stunning pose...I suppose I did make the right choice after all,’ He reasoned to himself, finding another empty seat that was closer to his muse and discretely moving over, continuing his strokes without having to look for just a few moments.

The longer Rohan continued to stare at her, the more he clued in on her story. Glossy, ⌜e/c⌟ irises and her dampened eyelashes signified the great sorrow she must have experiencing. ‘Perhaps a heart wrenching breakup?’ Rohan inquired sarcastically in his thoughts, but didn’t dawdle on the matter too heavily. Although he was curious, he didn’t see a need to know everything this instant. It would come in time as he further approached the quiet woman, this time only sitting a table away. He needed his close up face work.

Her hair was tied up intricately, a braid framing her hairline, excluding the loose hairs that framed her face, and the rest cascading down her back like a waterfall. She continued to look at the grey clouds outside the glass front, the same melancholy look written all over her features. Rohan could now see the item she had been playing with in her hand was the charm of a necklace; a golden heart charm to be exact. It rubbed against her fingers continuously, as if she was trying to learn every curve of it through touch.

Just as he was about to begin outlining her nose and lips, a barista from behind the counter came over to personally deliver a cup of piping hot coffee, blocking Rohan’s view with his back. How awful a mistake.

Instantly, Rohan stood from his seat and shoved past the barista, who thankfully no longer held the steaming mug in his hands, and plopped down in the seat opposite of his model.

“Excuse me, sir, if you would like to order something, you have to come to the front of the house.” The worker snarled, obviously not content with being pushed aside by a customer just to obtain a chair.

“Quiet, you’re ruining my concentration. You can go along now; you’ve already served this customer and I’m not in any mood to have one of your store’s overly sweet treats.” Rohan replied without making eye contact with the worker, completely attentive to the close up details he was now aware of from the woman, who appeared startled at the situation. “Yes, keep that expression; I have to make a separate sketch of it quickly. No, no, don’t open your mouth like a whale, wait until I’m finished.” The mangaka’s rash comments confused the female further, but she complied with his wishes, surprisingly, stilling her motions reluctantly.

“Ma’am, this… man isn’t bothering you now, is he?” The barista asked rather loudly, trying to bring Rohan’s attention to his appalling behavior. Unfortunately for him, the great artist had no such care for his actions in public, only conscious of the fact that he wanted— no, needed this sketch for future reference.

The woman hesitated, but still shook her head ‘no’. She feigned a small smile— something that terribly irked Rohan —and told the worker kindly, “Oh, not at all... See, he’s actually with me, I just… He went to the restroom and came back to find you here, that’s all. I’m sorry, he’s a bit unaware of his surroundings sometimes.”

Rohan snorted at the woman’s fib, figuring that she had it covered from there. He blocked out the rest of their small talk as he finished the final details of his initial sketch, picturing the young female’s initial pose with her chin laying in her palm. Now that he was much closer, he could focus on the way her eyelashes could be illustrated in his unique style and how to incorporate the few dewdrops of tears that remained on them.

When he was least expecting it, a tranquil voice called out to him. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

Rohan grunted an inaudible answer, incredibly focused on the individual lashes he was trying to replicate. It was something new he had been trying to incorporate into his style, and it was extremely different from a few simple strokes of his pen, but no such thing could best Kishibe Rohan and his skills.

“Would you like me to go back to posing the way you told me to before?” She questioned him, but Rohan shook his head (although he had to conceal his surprise at her willingness to cooperate with him after having no introduction whatsoever).

“No, it would be bothersome to try and recreate a natural expression with the unnatural. You should have held your tongue against that man and stayed put. But, no matter, I simply cannot work with unnatural countenance.” He replied curtly. This time, the woman did not seem as alarmed by his sharp tone, and instead huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly find it in myself to leave you to deal with the man’s questions. You looked very focused and I figured you would like peace with… whatever you’re doing--“

“Sketching.”

“Yes, with whatever you’re sketching behind me.” Her eyes scanned over him, he could feel the trail they left against his skin. It didn’t bother him as much as it should have. “Are you practicing drawing silhouettes? I imagine my moving is what ruined the image you were trying to illustrate.”

“You. I am sketching you, miss.” Rohan said, repeatedly glancing up and down and up and down, trying to figure out what other things he could add or notice about this woman to his portrait.

The surprise on her face came back. “Me? You’re sketching me, sir? Why, I’m… maybe a tad cautious of this situation, but what do you intend to make out of me with your art?”

Rohan fought the urge to smirk and mess around with the lady, but the accommodating side of himself, which he refused to acknowledge, came out of his shell to answer her respectfully. “You are simply an example of reality that stands out among others. What I intend to make of you is inspiration for my work.”

The glossiness in her eyes dissipated, but they still harbored such dejection that he couldn’t help but still his pen and prioritize the experiences he could possibly pry out of this woman.

“What do you do for a living, Mr…?” She paused in order to hear his name.

“Kishibe. Kishibe Rohan, that is. I am a mangaka, the creator of ‘Pink Dark Boy’, who lives in this area. I often come here for reference, but it seems today has been a bit of a drag.” He responded, trying to slightly boast his success in the process.

“Ah, yes, I know who you are, Mr. Kishibe. I’m sorry for not recognizing you earlier. I don’t have as much time to read manga as I used to nowadays, but I believe I’ve heard yours and your manga’s name more than a time or two. I’m sure you’re very proud of your accomplishments.” Her well-spoken, calm nature began to draw him closer to the conversation than he would like to have admitted. There was something majorly intriguing about her, and in order to obtain her experiences, he needed to dig deeper. Only then could he generate the most perfect scenarios for his precious manga. He did have the chance to use Heaven’s Door, but it would look majorly suspicious in front of the few customers that were there. Not to mention… he couldn’t help but want to learn about her life as humanly as possible. But you couldn’t have pried that truth from his soul, even if you had wanted to.

“Accomplishments mean nothing as much as the ability to work on my manga. It fulfills me in every way possible, and that is all I will ever need. I must say, you ask a lot of questions, miss.” His hands scribbled fluidly while responses flew from his mouth, but at a much slower pace. The way her lips moved as she spoke allowed him to get a much better perspective on their anatomy and how to draw them moving— they were an exquisite reference he needed to make use of, after all.

“Well, I do consider myself to be a curious person, but to have a passion such as your own is very admirable, Mr. Kishibe. Your dedication speaks for itself.” She pulled on the sleeves of her sweater to cover her palms as she set her hands on both sides of the mug, slowly bringing it to her lips and softly blowing at it before taking a sip. The warm liquid glistened on her top lip and she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser at her table, dabbing at the excess. How wonderful a picture it would have been for Rohan to capture, if only his camera would’ve been by his side.

“Mm…” Rohan didn’t completely reply, stuck on adjusting the position of her nose. He could not put such remarkable features to waste. Certainly the next arc of his manga would be the best of the best with newfound ideas popping into his head left and right.

The woman became utterly quiet, either from a lack of knowledge on how to reapproach the conversation or simply a lack of wanting to. One way or another, it wasn’t significant to Rohan. He could stand in silence, but he could never stand for sitting around without a pen in his hand. Without it, he felt entirely out of place, almost void. People like her were the drive that kept ‘Pink Dark Boy’ in continuation. There is nothing achieved from never allowing yourself to experience anything or taking someone else’s experiences into account. This woman had life changing experiences, he could feel it in the marrow of his bones, and he wouldn’t dare lose his clutch on her if she were to ever leave.

She sat there idly for an eternity. She did not stir from her position, nor did she choose to question Rohan’s unusual actions. In fact, she seemed to welcome it as a needed distraction, although he was entirely sure that he was far more infatuated with her than she was with him. He couldn’t help but speak up to break the comfortable silence.

“Your name.” He stated rather than questioned. He found that the context of his words would suffice as enough of a clue to what he wanted.

Her eyes merely glanced toward him, a darker shade than they had appeared before. Was this a trick of the light or the angle she chose to look at him through? He tilted his head like a confused puppy as she took her sweet time to put a smile on her face and answer him,

“⌜l/n⌟. ⌜l/n⌟ ⌜f/n⌟, Mr. Kishibe. You can just call me ⌜f/n⌟, if it makes it easier for you and if you’re comfortable with that.” Her name practically screamed beauty and spirit to him. There wasn’t a quality or aspect of this woman that he couldn’t get enough of. The very thought sparked a fabulous idea in the great mangaka’s head.

“Well, ⌜f/n⌟, if I am to call you by your first name, I should offer you the same proposition. Rohan will do just fine from now on. After all, if you agree to model for me from this point forward, I would like our interaction to be as natural as it is now.” He spouted the offer without a second thought, taking a break from sketching his current doodle of her to look upon her reaction.

Needless to point out, her face contorted into a look of shock. Her mouth slightly agape, eyes quivering, and fist locked around the heart shaped charm of her necklace. She did not meet his eyes for some time, looking off to the side in embarrassment. Her gaze switched from left to right, avoiding his face entirely, like a massive pendulum.

He continued to stare at her, unintentionally intimidating her further into her shell. He was the equilibrium of this pendulum she had set off and even he couldn’t help but hope that at some point in time, the wandering of her eyes would be interrupted by some invisible force to coerce her eyes into finally looking back at him. There was nothing wrong with what he had offered, although rather abruptly, in his mind. Questions like these did not require indecisiveness, but Rohan bit his tongue and remained patient. If there was anything he had realized over his encounters with that idiot Josuke and his friend Okuyasu, it had been that his sharp tongue caused him more excruciating failure than success.

And then her lips quirked upwards. The ghost of a smile, something that made his stomach oddly tickle. She reached over the table and carefully pried Rohan’s favorite pen from his hand, somehow without any trouble from the mangaka himself. As he stared in awe, ⌜f/n⌟ plucked another napkin from the dispenser and began to scribble on the rough material. Her eyebrows knitted in frustration when she accidentally tore said material with the tip of Rohan’s pen. Eventually she was able to get her message written out to her satisfaction, and slid the napkin in front of him, placing his pen right atop the corner so as to not block what she had written. He didn’t have to look to know it was her telephone number, jotted in her carefully penned handwriting.

Before he could remove his curious gaze from this beautiful female, Rohan found that she had already packed up her belongings. Swiftly, she scooted in her chair, only glancing at Rohan once more before raising her hand and giving him a shy wave, her face lined with a ruddy shade of pink. ⌜f/n⌟ turned gracefully and walked towards the front of the house, digging into her wallet and depositing a generous tip into the tip jar stationed by the cashier box before finding her way out of Morioh Cho Cafe.

Rohan continued to watch the woman with his intense stare. Customers around him gave him suspicious looks and whispered to their dear friends sitting next to them, but he couldn’t have cared less. He was fascinated. There was nothing special to her. Nothing out of the ordinary to explain his curiosity. Only this sorrowful, contemplative glimmer in her eyes. The only clue he could act on from that moment forward. The one clue that led to the opening of his heart to this woman in the most unusual of ways.

𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟭 ✒

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staripheral · 3 years

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➺ 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 1 & 2 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙎/𝙊 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙍

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘-𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙧, 𝙝𝙮𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

★ JONATHAN J. would wake to the slightest of movements, the quietest of whimpers, and to the tiniest of tremors raking through your body as you were squeezed to his muscular side. He was an extremely light sleeper, something he naturally acquired to remain vigilant (because a certain adopted son of the Joestar Family surely had it out for him). Immediately, his eyes blinked open and he moved onto his side, cooing gently into your ear and rubbing slow circles with his calloused fingers on your hip. While he had hoped to simply coax your dreams into something more delightful, you awoke with a loud gasp after a few moments of experiencing his earnest touch. You hesitantly turned your head towards his large figure in bed and felt the tears trickle from the corners of your eyes; you could see the pain in Jonathan’s eyes as well as his own features contort to express his discomfort of seeing you in such an agonized state.

“My love, please… tell me what troubles you?” He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head and brought up his palm to feel the skin of your complexion, carefully brushing away the several tears you could not find within yourself to hold in.

“J-Jojo… Oh, Jonathan, it was horrible! You-- You were murdered, and I was forced t-to watch the life drain from your eyes and--” Jonathan’s brows furrowed further, witnessing your pain: your damp cheeks, red eyes, and uneven breaths. He pressed himself further towards your shaking body underneath the silky sheets, and removed his hand from the side of your face only to replace it behind your head and press your face into his bare chest.

“How I hate to see you so upset, my love… But, know this. I will never leave your side, not even for an instant. My soul is bound to yours as yours is to mine. Never shall I part from you, in life or death, and I do not plan on leaving you alone in this lifetime, my love. I am positive I am to remain by your side for the rest of eternity… and no man, woman, or enemy could ever remove my promise to you, ⌜f/n⌟.” His kind words only made your tears flow stronger, and he panicked for a moment, wondering if he had been out of place to say such things. But, when he felt your wails begin to even out into soft, short breaths and your trembling vanished, leaving your body moving with every inhale and exhale, and eventually your tears came to a stop, he found he could relax at last seeing as you were not in torment any longer. “Sleep well, my love.”

He pressed a kiss unto your lips and pulled away with your hand in his, holding both atop his broad chest. Goodness, what he wouldn’t do to ease the pain of the one he loved most.

★ DIO B. had not been in your presence the moment you had been awoken from your night terror. Your hands would not stop shaking as they gripped the sheets and pulled them off your damp body and you found that you barely had the strength to move your feet to plant themselves atop the soft rug by your bedside. You stood up, having to bring a hand to the footboard to support yourself, and a hand to your mouth to stifle an oncoming sob. There was only one person you trusted yourself with in this kind of state, but he was nowhere to be seen-- at least, not yet.

You wrapped your arms around your torso in an attempt to comfort yourself and your voice echoed through the Joestar Mansion, searching for your beloved. Eventually, you heard his voice call out to you and you ran (or, at least walked as fast as you could) towards its source; the den area.

The door was cracked open just a sliver and you gazed inside, spotting Dio on the loveseat, reading a novel in the dead of night by himself. You squeezed through the entrance and closed the door as delicately as you could.

“And what is it that would require my utmost attention in the midst of the night, my dear ⌜f/n⌟?” Dio questioned, not even looking up from the place he was in his book, although you could tell you had his ears open for you, as he had not turned another page in his book.

“...Dio. It is nothing… I-I just wanted to keep you company.” You whispered, coming around the side of the loveseat and remaining at his side, giving him space to himself, but also being close enough that you were able to feel his warmth from afar as well. You feared he would push you and your stupidity aside, calling you out for allowing yourself to be overcome by your fears. Although he was soft for you, you knew he still had his own limits, which you deeply respected.

Dio looked over at you slyly, his usual smirk gone and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “After seeing you sound asleep in our chambers, I’m not quite so sure that you could have awoken just for a bit of attention, hm? What dreams plague you this late?”

You sighed. Nothing gets past his watchful, crimson eyes. As you wiped the tears from your eyes, you began to recount the atrocious visions that haunted you; that of death, destruction, and deceit. Dio nodded thoughtfully, having put down his book, but still staring into the flames of the pit before him. You wrung your hands harshly, trying to quell your emotions as best you could.

He suddenly took your right hand in his and pulled you towards him so that your back lay against his chest and he picked his book up once again. “Perhaps you would like to read this with me, to get your mind off of the foolish fantasies you dream of? After all, how can anything harm you if you are here in my company.” He said, mocking you slightly.

If he were being honest with himself, Dio would admit that this situation made him uncomfortable, almost out of place. But when he felt your head slightly nod against him, he found himself reading aloud, the only thing he could do (or at least knew what to do at that moment) to provide you comfort in that very moment.

As he read chapters upon chapters, with his deep, rich voice running dry, Dio felt your figure cease its subtle movements and slump into another deep slumber. He carefully slid out from underneath you and kneeled beside the loveseat, tucking his toned arms underneath the back of your knees and the length of your shoulders and lifting your limp body into his arms, carrying you back to your chambers, where he intended to join and guard you from any more dreams that wished to terrorize your good-natured soul.

“Don’t believe in such trivial fantasies, my dear. I would never allow for us to part. Even fate itself will not be enough to divide us. Sleep well, dearest.”

★ JOSEPH J. was a very, very deep sleeper. No man alive could devise a wake up call loud or obnoxious enough to make him arise from his sleep. But… a woman such as yourself happened to find out what woke him up on the day that you experienced a terrifying dream. You had tossed and turned, cried out and begged for help, yet no one had come to rescue your pitiful self. You awoke with a start, your figure flying up from its position in bed. Joseph’s heavy arm that had once lay across your waist had been tossed to the side, and his eyelids remained closed while his snores filled the quiet room. You clutched your chest in an attempt to control your breathing, tears dripping down onto the covers of your bed as you tried to maintain composure. You had to leave the bedroom, and fast, lest you feel even more suffocated than before.

The loss of your presence woke up the goofster. There was no heat, no mass weighing down the bed in the space next to him; you were gone. That was his motivation to open his eyes and look at the time by the clock beside him. 2:31 AM. The horror.

Joseph knew he would not be able to sleep without you by his side, so he begrudgingly sat up and exited the bedroom, rubbing his tired eyes and groaning at his sore muscles. His bare feet padded against the floor, making a loud entrance into the kitchen, so loud that he had not even heard your quiet, muffled sobs as you sat on the floor, back pressed against the cabinets with your face buried in your hands.

His eyes softened. He grew quiet. He was never quiet. You were scared to even look up at him. Was he upset? Was this another trick of your mind? You were so lost, so confused, shaking so violently in your nightgown that you became so sure that this was real. Your gaze finally moved upwards to look at Joseph, who had approached you with soft, saddened eyes as he kneeled before you.

“Jo,” --you hiccupped-- “Jo… I-I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” You attempted to wipe the tears away vigorously, poorly covering up your terrified state. Joseph, the ever-observant man that he is, knew better than to fall for your words. You were so scared. He could practically feel the fear radiating from your body as his fingers extended to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and cup his palm against the side of your neck. “Joseph?” You asked timidly, as he remained silent and reached your hands out to touch his face.

However, you were the priority in Joseph’s mind, and in no way would he let you suffer as he often found himself after troublesome nights, especially when you were always there for him in his times of need. Instead, he moved his hands to grip your sides and smoothly lifted you to sit atop the countertop, leaving you squeaking in surprise. This side of Joseph was so unfamiliar to you… yet you loved it all the same.

His hands tenderly smoothed up and down your sides before engulfing you in an embrace. He wordlessly connected his lips to your temple, holding them there for what seemed like forever until he finally felt the sobs rack your body, your pain being released into the air. Joseph’s teeth clenched as you gripped his shirt in your dainty hands, cries filling his unusual silence as he let you rid yourself of the suffering you were experiencing. He only moved to either smooth the back of your hair by running his fingers through it idly, or to press the lightest of kisses to your temple, so that you knew he was there, that he would not judge, and that he would always protect you from the bad, even from within, until you fell asleep, peacefully breathing against his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck.

Joseph was a chatty, intolerable brat at times… but he always, always wished to bring you the kind of serenity you’d introduced into his life. And he realized that sometimes, just by being at your side he was able to help rid yourself of the demons that lived inside of you, as you had saved him from the demons that once lurked within him.

★ CAESAR Z. woke to your piercing shriek sounding out in the middle of the night. He moaned something incoherently to his amore as his eyes desperately tried to open, only fully widening as he felt a petite hand shake against the bulk of his bicep. “C-Caesar, please wake up!”

He sprung up into a seated position to look at you, his frazzled partner. His head whipped back and forth for signs of any potential danger. When he found nothing strange, his head turned back to you to figure out what was wrong. Your lips wobbled, your eyes producing streams of endless tears, and your hand shook as you gripped his arm again. “Y-You’re alive!?”

“Of course I am alive, tesora, what made you believe I wasn’t?” He questioned, gingerly taking your face in his hands, bringing his forehead to yours, and furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity. “Did you have a night terror, ⌜f/n⌟?”

Your waterworks were the only response he required to answer that question. As he wiped away your tears and nuzzled impossibly closer to you, your own hands clutched at his sides, as to ascertain for themselves whether he was reality or some sort of dream.

“Oh, tesora, please do not cry. I promise you, I am real. Do you feel my hands on your face?” You nodded, the air around you feeling a lot thinner than it did before. You began to wail in a panicked state. “Shh… It is alright. My lips, right here, “--he kissed your left eyelid--”and here,”--then pressed another to your right eyelid--”are real.” His hands began to peel away from your cheeks before you desperately tried to grab at them. He could tell you were so scared, so vulnerable and afraid of losing him, as he was of losing you. “Amore-- I’m here. You can touch me, I won’t disappear. I will not vanish. My place is here, loving you forever. I am not dead, nor will I be anytime soon. Oh, don’t cry… please breathe with me.”

His continued coos of affection, his whispered words of encouragement, and his gentle touches provided you comfort in due time. His words were laced with a velvety, relaxing tone that surely would’ve put you to bed much sooner had you not been so frantic in your state of mind.

“I’m so sorry, Caesar… I’m so sorry for waking you up and bothering you with my mindless nonsense.” You spoke quietly, forehead still pressed to his as you laid down next to one another for the second time that night. He shook his head immediately, his bangs tickling the skin of your forehead.

“Don’t ever apologize… You were scared, and not over something such as ‘mindless nonsense’. I want you to reach out for me, to find solace in me, tesora. I want to cure you of your fear. I want to save you from your darkest thoughts. You mustn’t be sorry, tesora, for everything that has happened does not bother me in the slightest… I adore you, ⌜f/n⌟ .” He spoke calmly, slowly so that his words would lull you into sleep, hopefully this time blessed with happiness.

Caesar smiled as you snuggled in close and thanked him for everything. He did not say anything in return and made sure you were comfortable before shutting his eyes once more. ‘No,’ He thought to himself. ‘Thank you, tesora, for giving me everything.’

𝙖/𝙣 : 𝘰𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘪'𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 :')) 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩!! 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵! 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 <3

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staripheral · 4 years

Text

❛ i’ll be lucky someday ❜

𝙟𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙣𝙮 𝙟𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯𝘯𝘺’𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : 𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙚

𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙣 ‘𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙥𝙖𝙙’

JOHNNY seated himself upon the pillowy snow after moving out of his wheelchair with unlikely ease. His head tilted upwards to look up and out into the pitch black sky, lit with luminous stars. It was almost too beautiful to be a witness to, he thought while continuing to gaze at the ethereal night. His mind, other than being filled with the sight of twilight, was consumed by anything and everything surrounding the previous events in the midst of the Steel Ball Run.

Their placement at the 5th stage was anything short of spectacular or celebratory. For just a moment, they thought they had risen to the occasion and swept the top three places for themselves. Only, it wasn't meant to be. They had ended up occupying slots four through six, while Sandman, Norisuke Higashikata, and the mysterious Hot Pants took the first three places for themselves. He wasn't particularly bothered at the time, but he knew how much this meant to Gyro... and ⌜y/n⌟. He couldn't have felt more devoid in that moment, knowing that if he had perhaps unlocked his stand's potential sooner or even have been able to use his stupid, crippled legs to come to his friends' aid.

There was always a constant—his constant—that relieved him and helped him feel grounded, and that was ⌜y/n⌟. Johnny shivered, not from the cold, but the idea of ⌜y/n⌟'s warm, delicate hands grazing his unworthy skin. The snowflakes peppering down on his poor-excuses-of-legs did not bother him in the slightest. Because he couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Not without her at least. Johnny was nothing without his... well, he wasn't quite sure of the status of their relationship, but he was aware of the fact of how important she was to him. That he did, in fact, love her with all of his heart.

Johnny's vacant, blue irises moved their focus from the gleaming moon to his numb legs.

'I wonder what she sees,'—he had pondered multiple times over this journey—'When she looks at my crippled form... Does she feel distaste for me? Or perhaps pity?'

Lost in thought, his attention wasn't brought back until he heard her angelic voice. He hadn't just imagined her soft touch like he thought he had as a familiar weight lay on his shoulder— it had been there for a while. He did not have to flinch or yell; Johnny didn't have to look to know that it was her— the only person he had grown to care and adore for during his years of suffering. He could practically hear ⌜y/n⌟'s pearly white smile as she laid out atop a thin blanket to protect her rear from the layer of snow covering the earth for as far as they could see.

"Gyro said he'll be back in a bit. He's just gathering some extra firewood and, uh... how do you put it? Taking a leak?" She laughed uneasily, yet it still brought a furious hammering to his frozen heart.

"There's not much of a better way to put it, doll," Johnny chuckled, scooting himself onto the same blanket she was planted on. He looked into her eyes and couldn't seem to counter the tender smile his lips quirked up into.

⌜y/n⌟ returned his look with surreal beauty—goodness, he couldn't get enough of the rosiness that her checks were painted with—and a smile that surpassed even the sun's heat, warming him to the core despite their wintery surroundings. No lipstick to coat her plump lips, no eyeshadow to brighten her already dazzling ⌜e/c⌟ eyes— nothing besides her bare skin right before him. And he felt anything but deserving at that moment to behold such a wondrous complexion as hers.

She placed her temple against his shoulder and slowly slithered her hands around to hug Johnny's arm gently. The sudden explosion of heat in his cheeks sent him into a tizzy. Johnny tilted his head to the right, poorly attempting to hide his rosy face.

"Sorry, I hope you don't mind. It's just so darn cold here." ⌜y/n⌟ shivered in emphasis of the chill dancing through her veins. All Johnny could do was utter an "S'okay" and bite his lip to refrain from squirming away from her touch. He looked back and forth between her and his legs. Those ugly limbs, compared to a beautiful being like her. It was unfair; not to him, but to her. How could he even bring himself to think about an impossible future with her at his side? How could she cling to him for security when he can't even stand up to provide what she sought.

The despairing comments filling his head took more of an outward toll on him than he had realized. His teeth drew blood from his lips, his arm burned as it continued to be bound in ⌜y/n⌟'s arms, and his breathing grew heavier... heavier and heavier until ⌜y/n⌟ finally decided to ask what was wrong.

"What's wrong, Johnny? Is it a Stand attack? Oh, God- are you alright?" Her own breath grew ragged like his, worried about the possibility that another contestant was trying to get in their way once more. She tried to remain calm and observe the scene, starting with Johnny. That's when she realized it wasn't a Stand's doing at all.

His eyes looked lost as they remained on the endless amount of snow in the distance. His shoulders began to tremble under the weight of his trouble; ⌜y/n⌟ had underestimated the amount of willpower that Johnny often facaded. Underneath that was still a kind and strong young man, but those features were laced with memories of hurt and treachery. His heart was wrought with the worst of experiences and it seemed to be catching all up to him now.

"Oh, Johnny..." She whimpered, his own pain resonating in her heart as well. Sitting up on her knees and moving her arms to hug him fully around his side, she cooed words of comfort into his ear, briefly pressing a kiss to his jaw to try and relax him. This only seemed to make him further distressed.

"How can you do that?" He croaked out all a sudden, tears staining his pale, porcelain skin. ⌜y/n⌟'s eyebrows knit together, creasing in what could only be described as confusion. He continued, not being able to look her in the eye as he sobbed out his words. "How can you even hold onto me, comfort me, and remain by my side? How can you do that when I can't even stand or protect you properly; when I can't tell you how I feel because I would never want you to feel pressured to say something back to a poor soul with stupid- stupid! - legs!" He had grabbed a fistful of snow in his bare hand, releasing his anger as he threw the snow at his pants. He had broken free of her careful grasp in that time, unintentionally frightening her.

A trembling hand rose to cover ⌜y/n⌟'s mouth. Her prediction had been slightly off; Johnny hadn't been feeling so melancholy of his past, rather, he was ashamed of what his past had robbed him of. He was insecure of his current state, of his inability to walk about freely like the people he watched everyday. Her heart fell into her stomach and she applied further pressure to her mouth, as if trying to keep the nauseating feeling of helplessness down. Her eyes fell on Johnny, his sobbing form hunched over and still breathing laboriously. It broke ⌜y/n⌟ into pieces, but she wouldn't dare sit by idly and watch him wallow in his worst moment alone any longer than she already had.

⌜y/n⌟ approached him, boots crunching the snow beneath her light steps. Johnny looked up, eyes red around the rim, his lips still bleeding, and face rosy from the frosty wind. She sat herself in his lap comfortably and her lips formed such a soft hearted smile that his tear ducts filled with waterworks once more and he broke down at her unexpected actions. It made him tremble visibly, and the snow began to fall down at substantial pace. With another coo of worry, ⌜y/n⌟ took his face in her palms, holding it with extra care. They stared at each other for eons and the pad of her thumb stroked his cheekbone back and forth. But the feeling of her soft hands cradling his face was nothing compared to the soft, silky caress of her lips against his.

The extreme heat that transpired through his body was inexplicable. A ravaging hunger consumed him, but he had to pull away for that very reason. He could not damage her and her goodness because of his uncontrollable emotions.

Their faces- both ruddy with the momentary passion that had been entrapped in their moment -could not turn anywhere else but in the direction of each other. Johnny's fingers itched to desperately grip her and pull her back into him, to show her just how he felt, but he didn't. He was frozen in place by her affection. It seemed as if ⌜y/n⌟ were as well, until she moved her lips again, only this time to speak to him in a whispered tone.

"I love you." Her voice wavered ever so slightly just saying those three words; their weight had never been more significant before. Yet she still undoubtedly believed it, and continued forward with the only things she could think to say. "I love you- all of you. You have trusted me, cared for me, protected me in the worst of our journey, starting in San Diego. You have shown me what it means to be true to yourself, to be selfless, and to always pursue what is in your heart... You have done that. You've protected me from our enemies, from my own stupid thoughts, and my dreams at night when I toss and turn. Johnny... you have always protected me. And I,"-she paused to lift his chin with a nimble finger of hers, wiping stray tears while she was at it -"don't think that your legs have ever prevented you from doing that. You are not a poor soul... you offer me wealth in a way that no other person could. Your legs are not stupid, because they make you, you. Perhaps they can limit you in certain aspects, but tell me a time where you have failed to overcome an obstacle here because of them. They have never. And they will not, and have not, stopped me from loving you, Jonathan."

She didn't need to say another word. Not after everything she had expressed- everything that she had laid bare before him. Her words reached through to him so easily, it was almost frightening... almost. Perhaps there were still doubts, but they were minor now, compared to the light in front of him.

He crushed her right to his chest and he fervently kissed her perfect lips over and over and over, committing practically every single patch of skin, every breath, and the very taste of her to his memory. It just wasn't enough in his mind.

In that moment, nothing else really mattered. Nothing besides her lips, her body, her being mending his broken esteem- his once broken heart. If Heaven didn't feel as warm and comforting as the two of them had in that moment... he wasn't entirely sure how "kind" he would be from that point forward in order to get there. He was alive, heart throbbing through his chest unto hers. She was alive, heart throbbing through her chest unto his. They beat in unison, merging into one it seemed.

When ⌜y/n⌟ had begun to slow, he pulled away and placed a hand on the back of her head, threading his fingers through her velvety hair. They were both out of breath, gasping for each other's air. Their hair a mess and clothes slightly disheveled from their heated kisses. Johnny smiled, feeling so airy in that particular moment and more love than he had ever been given in his life. He dipped his head down slightly just so his lips grazed her ear.

"You're too much sometimes, I swear..." He felt bashful confessing in such a manner, his entire face turning red from embarrassment now. "Will you- Will you stay by my side, ⌜y/n⌟? I know it's so selfish of me to ask out of all things, but... if you don't say 'no' now, I don't think I'll ever be able to let you go." He held in his breath, tightening his grip on the figure enveloped within his arms. He was scared to let go, to see if this had all been a dream or not.

Her quiet laughter was his saving grace. "After I poured my heart out to you, you still believe that I would leave you? Even if I had even thought of trying, you still follow me everywhere I go- not that I'm complaining!" She quickly added, realizing how off-putting her previous statement could have come off. ⌜y/n⌟'s digits moved along the nape of his neck, playing with his long, cascading hair. It was oddly comforting to the both of them.

Her voice grew quieter as she continued. "You're the only thing I can think of day in and out, Johnny. You ride beside me no matter what trail we're on, you sit next to me when we take our short breaks... you're even in my dreams for goodness' sake! And... well, when I dream of you, all that I can think of is my longing to be by your side."

Soon, the shades of both the rider's faces brightened to the color of ripe tomatoes. They looked at each other, taking in the similar signs of embarrassment they were expressing, until ⌜y/n⌟ broke out into a fit of giggles. She squirmed in Johnny's lap, trying to ward off whatever stupid thing was making her burst in hiccups of happiness. Johnny's grin grew sly, letting out a small chuckle of his own as he watched his beautiful darling radiate cheerfulness. His eyes lit like a flame, dancing in excitement of this new step in his life.

Tears forgotten. Despair repaired. Loneliness departed his heart. Only joy in the wake of their newly bounded beings. He found that this had been the most wonderful thing to have happened to him. To have met this ravishing rider, fallen in love, and being able to hold her in his arms with no worry.

He found that, there was no greater feeling in the world, being by her side.

FIN.

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