Various x Reader Oneshots

Weakness (Dio Brando; JJBA)

Guess who got addicted to Jojo's Bizarre Adventure.

Hi, it's me again. After nearly three years of inactivity. A lot has happened and, in all honesty, I do miss writing. You could not believe the amount of short pieces I made during my free time, but I felt as if they don't exactly need to be published. Or, at least, feels good enough to be published here. This one, however, I feel as if I should give it a go. I doubt the readers from before still kept this book after deeming it complete years ago. I'm still going to put this up regardless lol.

To those who stayed, thank you. I haven't said this enough, but I sincerely and immensely thank you for staying despite being done with this book. I can't promise that I'll update frequently after this due to random spurts of inspiration. I'm still grateful to you all, old and new readers alike.

Well, time for the story, and I hope you like it just as much as I do. Ironic, really, since I hate this bastard ever since I he kneed Danny in the face. The book about Dio's journal just made me understand his character a bit more. Oh, and this was inspired by the Filipino song by Ben&Ben called "Sa Susunod Na Habang Buhay".

Warning: mentions of blood and swearing; also a very long oneshot

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"How many times has it been this week?"

Dio grunted, turning his cheek away from the girl in front of him. Your arms were crossed over your chest with a brow quirked in a silent question. He felt the bruise on his cheek sting and smart by the slightest brush of the wind. If anything, the painful sensation was intensified by your glare. His tongue flicked over the cut on his lip in a fruitless attempt to wipe off the blood. Your exasperated sigh reached his ears; nothing more than a whisper in the breeze.

"Come here, you stubborn mule." Before Dio knew it, you had grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the bustling streets of urban London. Passersby didn't spare a glance for the two teenagers dressed in soiled commoner clothes.

Dio, hoping to spare himself from the embarrassment of allowing a girl to drag him around, watched the crowd go about their mundane activities. Women gossiped with each other, hands covering their mouths to stifle scandalized gasps, while men languidly talked about adult matters—business and what other dull subjects they had in mind. His gaze drifted to the hollowed junction between a clothing shop frequented by aristocrats and an apothecary that had seen better days. The blond already sensed the death and neglect in the air before the sight made his skin crawl. He caught a glimpse of a man in tattered rags whose back hunched over, shoulders sagging from the weight of his head tucked towards his chest. His hand loosely held the neck of a bottle of booze, empty and hidden in the shadows. The hairs on the nape of Dio's neck stood on end, but a harsh tug from you brought him back to reality.

"We're almost there," you told him. You looked at him from the corner of your eye before focusing on the road ahead. Your hand, small and thin with a bony wrist, squeezed his arm before abruptly jostling through the crowd. The throng of people parted, cleaving a path towards the outskirts of the city. Dio scowled, directing his attention to the cobblestone path and ignoring the pain blossoming in the palm of his clenched fist. Murmurs from the socialites rang as clear as the church bells, but you paid no mind to it. Something about your indifference made his indignation and annoyance worsen; his blood dangerously close to boiling over what little patience he had. Another squeeze of his arm and a quick glance from you told him this was a losing battle, one he had never won before. With a scoff, Dio grudgingly remained silent and continued to let you drag him.