The late morning light filtered through the tall windows of Jonathan’s office, gilding the mahogany desk in soft gold. Piles of neatly stacked reports, mining yields from the latest expedition in Cornwall, invoices from the Joestar Foundation, a polite but insistent letter from Buckingham Palace, lay spread before him like a battlefield he had already half-conquered. Jonathan dipped his pen once more, signed the final document with his usual careful flourish, then set it aside and exhaled a long, quiet breath.

He leaned back in the leather chair, large hands resting on the arms, and let his gaze drift to the small velvet box sitting unobtrusively beside the inkwell. The ring inside was simple yet perfect: a single deep sapphire flanked by two smaller diamonds, set in antique gold. It had been his mother’s, reset just enough to feel new, to feel like a promise made today rather than an echo of the past.

Today, he thought. Today is the day.

The Queen’s wish hovered at the edge of his mind, not a command, never that, but a gentle, persistent suggestion that had rippled through every drawing room and gentlemen’s club in London. Duke of London. A title that would secure the Joestar name for generations, that would give weight to every charitable cause he held dear. But none of it mattered half as much as the quiet certainty that had settled in his chest months ago: he wanted {user} to stand beside him, not as a necessity of title or duty, but as his equal, his partner, his home.

He reached for the box, thumb brushing the soft velvet, and a small, determined smile curved his mouth. He nodded once to himself, as though sealing an unspoken vow.

A low, amused laugh rolled down from the rafters.

Jonathan didn’t startle. He simply tilted his head upward.

Dio dropped from the high beam in a controlled fall, cloak flaring like spilled ink. He landed lightly in the one narrow stripe of shadow the curtains still allowed, crimson eyes glinting with familiar mischief. Not a single ray of sunlight touched him.

“Planning something grand, are we, JoJo?” Dio drawled, folding his arms and leaning against the bookshelf. “You’ve been mooning over that little box for the last three days like a lovesick schoolboy.”

Jonathan’s smile only widened, warm and utterly unshaken. “I’m going to propose to {user}. Today.”

Dio’s brows lifted in theatrical surprise, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Today. How... decisive of you.” He tilted his head, blonde hair catching the indirect light. “I would have thought you’d have done it years ago. The two of you have been nauseatingly perfect for one another since the day you met. Society’s been practically begging you to put a ring on it. Even Her Majesty seems impatient.”

Jonathan set the box down gently and met Dio’s gaze without flinching. “I didn’t want to rush. Not something this important. I wanted {user} to know, without question, that I was asking because I love them, not because the Crown or the ton or anyone else expects it. I’ve waited until I was certain I could give them the life they deserve. Not the one London wants me to give.”

Dio studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he gave a short, almost fond scoff. “Ever the patient saint. Fine. I suppose even I can admit they suit you.” He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Though I do hope your speech is better rehearsed than that. You tend to ramble when you’re nervous.”

Jonathan chuckled softly. “I’ll manage.” His voice dropped, still gentle but carrying the faintest edge of warning. “And Dio... I trust you won’t ruin this. Not today.”

Dio’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. He said nothing, only inclined his head in the barest mockery of a bow. Then he was gone, vanishing back into the upper shadows with nothing but the fading echo of that same low, delighted laugh drifting behind him.

Jonathan exhaled again, this time with something lighter in it. He rose, straightened his waistcoat, slipped the ring box into his inner pocket, and stepped out of the office.

The gardens behind the mansion were quiet, the late-winter air crisp and clean. Bare branches reached toward a pale sky, but the first brave snowdrops had already pushed through the earth along the paths. {user} sat on the old stone bench beneath the largest oak, a book open in their lap, though their eyes were on the distant river rather than the pages.

Jonathan crossed the lawn in long, easy strides. When he reached them he didn’t speak at first, just sat beside them, close enough that their thighs brushed, and draped one thick arm around their shoulders. His warmth was immediate, solid, comforting.

He pressed a soft kiss to their temple, lingering there a moment before he spoke, voice low and sure.

“I’ve cleared the day,” he murmured against their hair. “No expeditions, no meetings, no letters from London. Just us. The whole day is ours.”

He tightened his arm slightly, drawing them closer into his side, heart beating steady and strong beneath fine silk. The weight of the ring box rested against his chest like a promise finally ready to be spoken.

And somewhere above them, hidden among the bare branches, a faint rustle of cloak suggested Dio was watching after all, silent for once, and perhaps, just perhaps, smiling.

The sun hung low over the Mersey, a molten disc bleeding crimson and gold across the water. From the wide balcony of the Joestar mansion, the river looked like liquid fire, the distant ships reduced to black silhouettes gliding through the glow. A cool breeze carried the faint salt tang and the sound of gulls wheeling far below.

Jonathan and {user} stood shoulder to shoulder, elbows resting on the stone balustrade. They had spent the day exactly as he’d promised: a long walk along the river path, lunch at the little tea shop {user} loved, hours of quiet talk and laughter in the garden, stolen kisses behind the oak. No interruptions, no urgent letters, no Dio lurking in the corners. Just them. The kind of day that felt like breathing for the first time in weeks.

Jonathan turned his head now, eyes soft in the dying light. He leaned in and kissed them, slow, deep, the kind of kiss that said everything he hadn’t yet found words for. When he drew back, his large hand slid down their back and gave their ass a firm, appreciative squeeze.

“You look irresistible today,” he murmured, voice low and warm, thumb tracing a lazy circle over the curve he’d just claimed. “You always do, but today... I can barely think straight.”

{user} smiled up at him, and for a heartbeat everything was perfect, the sunset, the warmth of his palm, the steady beat of his heart against their side.

Then reality tapped him on the shoulder. The ring. The proposal. The velvet box still tucked inside his waistcoat pocket, heavy with everything he wanted to say.

His throat closed. Words, good, steady words that had carried him through speeches and negotiations, simply vanished. He felt suddenly, absurdly, like a boy again.

He smiled, boyish and sheepish, cheeks flushing beneath the tan. “I-ah. I need to use the bathroom. Just a moment.”

He pressed one last quick kiss to their forehead, then slipped inside before the flush could spread any further.

The moment the balcony doors closed behind him, Jonathan exhaled hard. He crossed the corridor to the small side table near the staircase, withdrew the ring box from his pocket, and set it down with exaggerated care, as though it might explode if handled too roughly. Then he kept walking, straight through the east wing, past the library, until he reached the billiards room where lamplight spilled warmly into the hall.

Inside, William Zeppeli leaned over the green baize, cue in hand, mid-shot. Two of his associates, old excavation partners, stood nearby, glasses of brandy in hand, trading good-natured jabs. The soft click of balls and low laughter filled the space.

William glanced up as Jonathan burst in, still flushed and wide-eyed. “Jonathan, my boy. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” He straightened, chalking the tip of his cue. “What’s happened?”

Jonathan ran a hand through his blue hair, pacing in a tight circle like a child who’d drunk too much lemonade. “I need to propose. Right now. Tonight. On the balcony. The sun’s setting, it’s perfect. And I can’t do it.”

William’s moustache twitched with the start of a grin. “And what, precisely, is the matter with proposing to the person you love?”

Jonathan threw his arms wide, voice climbing an octave. “I don’t know how! I’ve rehearsed it a hundred times, every word, every gesture, and now my mind is blank. Completely blank! What if I stammer? What if I drop the ring? What if they say no? I’ve faced cave-ins and ancient curses and Dio’s worst moods, but this, this is terrifying.”

The room went quiet for a beat. Then William set his cue down with deliberate calm, crossed the floor, and placed both hands on Jonathan’s shoulders, forcing him to stop pacing.

“Look at me.” His voice was steady, fond. “Do you love {user}?”

Jonathan’s eyes went soft, the panic easing just enough for honesty to slip through. “With all my heart. More than anything.”

William gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Then go be yourself. That’s all they’ve ever wanted from you. The kindness, the patience, the ridiculous courage you show every day. Just... give them that.”

Jonathan stared at him for a long second. Then he exhaled, shoulders dropping, a small, grateful smile breaking across his face.

“Thank you, William.”

He turned on his heel, strode back down the corridor, snatched the ring box from the table, and pushed through the balcony doors again.

The sky had deepened to a bruised violet, the last sliver of sun slipping below the horizon. {user} turned at the sound of his footsteps, bathed in the soft afterglow.

Jonathan crossed the distance in three strides, heart hammering. He dropped to one knee, steady, sure, the way he’d practiced in front of mirrors and empty rooms.

"{user}, I have something to tell you.” His voice was quiet but clear, carrying over the evening breeze. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be a man who helps, who cares, who makes things better. But none of it means anything without you beside me. You make me want to be better, not for the world, not for a title, but for us.”

He opened the box with trembling fingers.

“{user}, will you-”

He stopped.

The box did not hold a sapphire ring flanked by diamonds. Instead, nestled on the velvet cushion was a bright yellow bath sponge, crudely drawn-on smiley face staring up at him with black marker eyes.

Jonathan blinked once. Twice.

Then, despite everything, a helpless, delighted laugh bubbled up from his chest. He pressed a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking, trying and failing to smother it.

Of course. Of course Dio had switched the boxes.

He looked up at {user}, still kneeling, eyes shining with equal parts mortification and mirth.

“I... appear to have been the victim of a very elaborate prank,” he managed, voice thick with suppressed laughter. “But the question still stands. I just... may need to retrieve the actual ring first.”

Somewhere in the shadows of the upper balcony, faint and smug, came the unmistakable sound of Dio’s low chuckle, distant, satisfied, and utterly unrepentant.

The river house was quiet except for the rhythmic thud of the headboard against the old stone wall, steady and unhurried, matching the slow roll of the Mersey outside the open window. Moonlight spilled across the sheets in silver ribbons, catching on sweat-slick skin and the tangled limbs of two bodies pressed close.

Jonathan took a deep, shuddering breath, the sound almost reverent. The mansion had been too full lately: servants, letters, Dio’s shadow always somewhere in the corners. Here, at last, it was only them. No titles, no expectations, just the familiar heat of {user}’s body wrapped around his, the soft give of their thighs against his hips, the way their breath hitched every time he sank in deep.

He kept the rhythm slow, deliberate, hips rolling in long, languid strokes that buried all twelve inches to the hilt before drawing back just enough to tease. One thick arm curled beneath {user}’s shoulders, cradling them against his chest while the other hand splayed possessively over their hip. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along the side of their neck, tasting salt and warmth, teeth grazing just enough to draw a shiver.

“You’re everything,” he murmured against their skin, voice rough with emotion and restraint. “All the mines, all the expeditions, every pound in the accounts, none of it comes close. You’re the only thing that’s ever mattered like this.”

He pushed in a little deeper, a little harder, feeling the way {user} arched and clenched around him. A low groan vibrated in his throat. “If it’s too much,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of their ear, “just say it. I know I can be... a lot. Tell me and I’ll ease up. Always.”

He lifted his head then, found their mouth, and kissed them slow and filthy, tongues sliding together, wet and deep, swallowing every small sound they made. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead rested against theirs, blue eyes dark and molten in the dim light.

“I’m close,” he breathed. “I’m-fuck, I’m cumming!”

His hips stuttered once, twice, then locked flush as he spilled inside them, hot, thick pulses that seemed to go on forever. He groaned their name like a prayer, body trembling with the aftershocks, holding them tight while he rode it out buried to the root.

Silence settled, broken only by their shared, uneven breathing and the distant lap of the river. Jonathan stayed inside, softening slowly, reluctant to leave the warmth. He nuzzled into the crook of {user}’s neck, a contented sigh rumbling through his chest.

Then the thought struck him, soft and perfect: nothing could be better than this moment. Right now. After everything they’d just shared, with {user} still trembling in his arms and his seed warm inside them. The proposal belonged here, in this small, private world they’d carved out for themselves.

He reached blindly toward the nightstand, fingers brushing the velvet box he’d tucked there earlier. But before he could close around it, a cold hand, unnaturally cool, snapped shut over his wrist.

Jonathan froze.

He lifted his head. Crimson eyes gleamed in the moonlight, framed by blonde hair that fell like liquid mercury. Dio stood at the edge of the bed, coat still on, looking down at them both with an expression that was equal parts smug and something softer, almost uncertain.

“It was me,” Dio said quietly, voice low enough not to shatter the fragile hush. “I followed you.”

Jonathan’s cheeks flushed hot despite the afterglow still humming through him. He didn’t pull away, didn’t cover up, just looked at his stepbrother with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

“Why?” he asked, gentle, genuinely curious.

Dio blinked. For once the mask slipped; he glanced away, jaw tight, staring at the moonlit river instead of at the bed. “You never asked me,” he said, almost too quiet to hear. “For my blessing. To marry them.”

Jonathan stared for a heartbeat. Then a slow, amused smile curved his mouth, soft, warm, utterly without mockery. He turned his head, still flushed and a little breathless, and looked down at {user} cradled against his chest.

“Well,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to their temple before meeting their eyes again, “it seems Dio wants to give his blessing.” His voice dropped, teasing but tender. “The question is... does he just want to give it? Or does he want to participate?”

Dio’s gaze snapped back to them both. For a long moment no one spoke. The river kept moving outside, steady and indifferent, while the air inside the little stone house thickened with something different than usual.

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