musenami

He tries to be slick, keyword here being tries, because his endeavours are embarrassingly futile in the presence of his ever observant grandfather.

Jotaro can lower his hat to sneak a quick peak at you, demeanour poised with mock apathy as he threatens — empty threats — to hit you every time you ran your mouth with whatever bullshit you were constantly spouting on about, but he wasn't fooling anyone.

Especially not Joseph.

The older man was a veteran when it came to peeping after all, there was no way someone like him wouldn't notice.

And the boy is left to curse his luck, that of all people to catch him in the shameful act of gawking, it had to be his geezer. A loud-mouthed moron, who just wouldn't let him, or anyone else for that matter, hear the end of it.

His old age, something that's supposed to grant him wisdom, is practically out of the window when he teases Jotaro with obnoxious air kisses and winks of encouragement. The geezer acts like a fucking kid, finding some kind of sick and cruel enjoyment in his grandson's torment.

"Take a picture, Jotaro! It'll last longer that way!"

It's honest advice, Jotaro can begrudgingly admit. A line he's heard far more times than he can count, often accompanied with the offer of a free camera to pursue his dreams, but nevermind how frequent it may be, it always startles the absolute shit out of him.

And whilst he wants to do nothing more than deny the very true claims, Jotaro knows that reacting to his irritant's taunts will only give him away. So he reluctantly ignores them with an angry huff, discretely turning away from you, knowing damn well his gaze will miraculously find a way to wander its way back— back to you.

How could they not?

When you're sitting right beside him, all pretty with your hair pinned back, rambling on about whatever nonsense has caught your recent interest, your eyes bright like morning sunlight as you gesture about animatedly, none the wiser to his lingering stares.

It's a sight that has his stomach queasy and his head spin, something he desperately wishes to frame and commit to his memory so he can later look back on fondly like the sentimental fool that he is.

The boy quickly realises, that he's a lot like common molas — a fish known for their sunbathing behaviour — and that you, you are a lot like the sun. Dazzling and brilliant as you talk his ear off, something he has no problem with hearing despite his countless 'shut the fuck up's, that are actually his questionable way of saying 'keep going', 'continue', and 'don't stop talking'.

And just like his grandpa advised, Jotaro really wants to take photos of you. To immortalise your vibrant smiles, and to capture your vibrant-er expressions, but expecting a guy who's never played video games to know how to use a camera… might be asking for the impossible.

Sure, he could probably figure it out quickly, it's just a matter of pressing a couple of buttons after all— but, holding a camera in broad daylight, angling the device right, and capturing the perfect shot isn't exactly the dictionary definition of discrete, is it now?

Jotaro would rather dig a hole, crawl in it and die before exposing himself for who he really is in front of you.

So, being the innovative man that he is, he decides to approach the problem differently.

If he can't take pictures of you, then surely, he can just have star platinum draw you, right?

And he does.

Jotaro keeps a pocket sized sketchbook with him at all times, pulling it out whenever you've taken away his breath — unsurprisingly all the time — and keeping it out of your sight as his stand got to work.

It's the same today as well.

You've somehow managed to drag him to a nearby cafe again, by his arm and against his will, dismissive of his obvious refusal — a barely audible 'tch', and an even quieter 'good grief' that translates to his compliance.

And you're sitting before him in your full glory. Face framing strands effortlessly tucked behind your ear, the shorter strands pinned back with a star clip, cough, courtesy of star platinum who'd snuck it into your pocket when you weren't looking.

Your face is completely visible to Jotaro — just the way he likes, because that makes staring all the more easier to do — and you're happily devouring the strawberry shortcake in front of you, speaking a mile a minute after each bite as he took short sips of his tea. Something you offered to pay for, an offer he agreed to with a careless shrug because sneaking money into your pocket via star platinum was no difficult feat.

Maybe that's why you look so pleased today, because you're under the blissful impression that you're the one treating him when that isn't the case at all…

Jotaro sighs with slight amusement, filing away the information for future use as his intense stare returned back to you, hidden under the brim of his ragged hat that he made a point to adjust. He leaned back on his chair, discretely digging out the sketchbook from his pocket and keeping it out of your sight atop his thigh.

Nimble fingers move with the expertise of a repeated felon, opening up the sketchpad to a new page, a sign for star platinum to emerge behind him and take the reigns. The stand wordlessly adheres to his will, gripping a pencil with practised ease as it began sketching the basic outlines of your features.

The blank page is quickly filled up with your presence, the soft curve of your moving lips, the gentle slope of your nose, and your starry eyes that are wide and bright with endless curiosity — all drawn with the kind of effort only born from quiet devotion.

Jotaro's quiet devotion.

After all, the stand is a manifestation of his soul, and his soul is always in a state of reverence— always revering the beauty you carry effortlessly.

Star platinum gets close to you on occasion, particularly when it came to capturing the fine details of your lashes and your stray hairs, before returning back to the drawing with blinding speed and flawless precision.

It doesn't take long before his stand hands him the pencil, a silent announcement of the picture's completion, urging the boy to shut the sketchbook close and return it back to its rightful home, in his pocket and close to him.

A rush of thrill overwhelms him, and there's even an uncharacteristic bounce in his leg as his thoughts drift to his evening plans, where he meticulously goes through each drawing before sleeping, admiring them all with his ardent affections.

The excitement bleeds through, it's infectious, even star platinum's affected by his anticipation, spurring his stand to float back to you, right by your side to continue its quiet worship that take the form of intent staring.

And at times like this, Jotaro has never been more glad for your inability to see stands. He seriously didn't know what he'd do if you could see them, that would mean you knew about his staring problem this whole time, and the thought is painfully humilia—

"Hey, Jotaro?"

Your voice, soft and mellifluous, put a pause to his haywire thoughts, pulling him from his short-lived relief.

"…What?" His voice is clipped, and there's a tick in his brow as he guards you with a fierce glare. It's obviously a ruse, he's never truly annoyed at you, but pretending to be so gives him another chance to stare at you.

"I've been wondering about this for a while now..." You start off with uncertainty, lips pursing with wonder, a movement he follows deeply with wandering eyes as your gaze slowly drifted to your left, where star platinum has made itself very comfortable beside you.

"What's this purple entity that constantly follows you around? It's staring at me real hard right now."

"Cough—!"

His reaction is instant.

Jotaro positively chokes on his tea.

His large frame shaking as he hacks up the hot liquid he'd been consuming at leisure's pace. The beverage spills from the sudden movement, and Jotaro hisses when it drenches his pants. Not from the pain, but rather because the spill dangerously nears his pocket that housed his prized possession — the sketchbook filled with drawings of you.

Though you don't know that, obviously you don't!

So you, being the moron that you are, immediately pounce him with worry that is unneeded. Your hands fly to him with celerity, one's running across his back in soothing motions as the other grabs a hold of his trembling hand.

The concern in your eyes is evident, and it knocks the wind out of him, weakening the strength in his knees that hold him upright. And it's really no help that you touch him with featherlight tenderness, your perfume invading his senses and sending him overdrive.

"Are you— are you okay?!"

"Tch, g-get off— hic," He stammers, trying to pull you off of him as heat quickly spread across his ears in a guilty shade of flustered pink. "Get off me, bitch!"

first jjba fic... hello world... i'm on part 4 currently... taking a break tho and watching dr stone bc last ep is approaching soon </3

ANYWAY, I HOPE YALL ENJOY EHEHHE, @saintly11x THIS IS FOR U ML!!!!!

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