JJBA Oneshots

Jotaro Kujo; Guilty.

A/N:
Just wanna pop in to say, if you have any suggestions/requests PLEASE dm me or comment! I'm running out of inspiration slowly but surely and I definitely wanna keep my mojo going. As I've said before, you'll get full credit unless you specify otherwise! Also can I just say I'm really proud of this oneshot🥺

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A crack of thunder shook your house, rain pouring heavily against the roof and lightning seeping in behind the curtains. You shifted in your sleep, rolling to your side, you jutted a hand out to grasp your loving fiancé, but your palm was met with nothing but cotton sheets. You furrowed your brows.

Maybe he had gone to check on Jolyne, you thought. Perhaps the thunderstorm had woken her. Jolyne was usually a very heavy sleeper but with how things were outside, you wouldn't be surprised if she had woken from it.

You, rather sluggishly, sat up in bed and rubbed your groggy eyes. You figured you would go and check on them to make sure everything was all right.

--

His chest was tight as he hovered over the small toddler's sleeper bed, watching her chest softly rise and fall, and her face twitch everytime the sky rumbled.

She hadn't woken yet, but he wasn't surprised; this girl could sleep through a hurricane if someone let her.

Needless to say, he wasn't there for her; he was there for him, something he would never admit. He wanted to make sure she was okay, even though she was sound asleep in bed, not making a peep. And now that he was there, with her, he couldn't bring himself to leave. There was something all too comforting yet petrifying about her laying in bed so cozily. She was innocent- helpless, and precious. She couldn't take care of herself even if she wanted to, which meant, he had to.

And that scared him. It reminded him of the people that he couldn't take care of, that he couldn't protect, their memories still played on repeat in his head daily. Their faces carved into his brain, and his heart. He couldn't move on, lord knew he had tried, even when he was with Jolyne's biological mother, it kept him up at night. And it did all the same now, many years later such as it did when he was just a teenager. When he'd wake up screaming, thrashing in his bed, tears streaming down his face because in his dreams he couldn't escape the macabre death of his friends, his loved ones, the people he was responsible for. He watched them die all over again, everytime he closed his eyes, everytime he looked in the mirror. He couldn't let go. That was one of the reasons Jolyne's mother left, and he feared, you would do the same, and so would Jolyne when she was old enough to realize how impeccably fucked up her father was.

After the events that happened before his eighteenth birthday, he had to remind himself how to breathe. He had to teach himself how to eat, how to walk, how to carry on as if though nothing happened; but these were things he would never let anyone know, not his mother, not his grandfather, not his ex-wife, not his daughter, and not you. These were the burdens he dealt with everyday, these were the things that made his heart heavy. These were the things that made it so hard to love, to let people in. But it was in his blood, it was the Joestar's heritage, it was who he was. The hero, the one who saved the day. The one who wished his friends were alive to tell the tale to their mothers, wives, children. He wished if they had lived, they would've been different than him. They would have been proud, they would have spoken his name with honor and dignity if he was the one who had to give his life. The stories they would tell would be passed down from generation to generation, to never be forgotten.

But he was different. He felt wrong, for not doing that. He felt wrong for not ever letting their names slip from his mouth, for pretending like they didn't exist, for pretending like what they did, didn't affect him. He knew he should, tell their story, keep their names fresh on peoples mind; so they wouldn't be forgotten. It hurt him all too well, to even think about, so how could he speak about it?