Multifandom oneshots

32 ✁ [jonadio] cold hands, warm hearts

As I said, JJBA streak TwT

Prompt 32: "You can spend the night, if you want."

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Pairing(s): JonaDio (Jonathan Joestar/Dio Brando) (bromance? romance?? this pairing is so c̶̨͈͍͉͕̬͐̂͝ụ̸̄͂̓̽̏̂̀͊̂̌r̴̛̫̺͖̎̽̉̎̾̔̏̄̑s̵̖͈͕͉̯̠͓͚͑̀̒̾̑͂̚e̷̛̲̳̺̖͍̮̫͜d̸̰̱̥͕̂̄͑͒͘̕͝ but at the same time it's growing on me and idk what to do aaaa—)

Tags & warnings: graphic depictions of violence (injury & mild gore), implied/referenced child abuse & alcoholism, mild language, canonical minor character death(s), hurt/comfort, angst & fluff

Consistent tense?? We don't know her 🙅‍♀️

✁ — — —

He did it. He finally did it. A quick, hard stab to the neck, albeit a bit messy since it was done using one of the many broken bottles lying around. They always had enough of those, even before Mom died. Alcoholism was a well-known friend of the Brandos. But the destruction of their family... no, Dio can't blame it on anything except for that bag of dicks he had to call a father. No matter... he's dead, he repeats to himself — but even now, even when he's god-knows-how-far away from their house, trembling underneath the heavy rain in nothing but a shirt, pants and a ragged pair of shoes because he swore he would never accept anything from that man again, the memory still unfolds clearly in his head. His father's fist, rough against the side of his face before it sent him tumbling. The bottle, cold in his grip when he somehow found it and gripped onto it tight. The blood, thick and hot as it spurted out from his nose and from his father's neck, now littered with shards of glass. Just thinking about it makes him shake, makes him want to throw up — but he can't deny the overwhelming satisfaction that came with watching Dario Brando writhe, the glee as he frothed and choked, the calmness with which he watched him die.

Dio wonders if he has finally lost it.

He has stopped, somehow, in front of a cafe shop. His legs feel stiff as stone, and he can't see more than five meters ahead of him because of all that rainwater or blood or whatever it was in his eyes. With this blood-splattered outfit and the crime scene he's left full of evidence, Dio doubts he would get away with what he has done. For now, he'll just take shelter under this awning and hope the rain stops before he's chased away by the shop owners. Damnit, my head feels so heavy....

"Hey, what are you doing there?" A voice pulls him back from the senseless darkness of sleep. Startled and irritated, Dio looks up — only to freeze when he sees the expression on the stranger's face. The only other person to have ever looked at him with such kindness is his mother, but she's already long dead. Indeed, this stranger is a boy — not much older than him, it would seem, but definitely looking much more proper even in his employee uniform and apron. Before Dio can react, the boy emerges fully from inside the shop and walks over, umbrella in hand:

"Are you okay?"

Dio gives him a dubious look. His name tag reads Jonathan — hmph, what a boring rich-boy name. Even his hair looks brushed after supposedly a whole day of hard work, and his hand as he extends it to Dio has minimal calluses. But he shows no visible disgust toward the blond, or curiosity or suspicion at his battered appearance. "Do you want to come inside?"

Yes. Dio can't find the strength to speak, so he just stands up instead, but just then his vision turns to black and his legs wobble as if they want to give out. He doesn't hit the floor, though, because Jonathan has immediately reached over and put an arm around him for support, steadying the blond. "Come on."