JJBA Reader Insert One-Shots

Johnny x Reader: "I'll Never Leave"

He was your knight in shining armor. He had come to take you away from your boring life and ride you off into the sunset. Those had been your first thoughts when his horse trotted by your house that day. From the porch, you could just make out his features: a young, slender boy, about your age, a stern and determined look on his face. Without another thought, you ran out onto the path to greet him and his beautiful stallion. And that was the beginning.

His name was Johnny Joestar and his father owned the several farms around your family's quiet little estate. You two had always been neighbors, but you hadn't even met until that day, and Johnny was extremely eager to have a friend his age. He began to ride by almost everyday. You would help him tie up his horse in your stable, feed it, brush it, and conversed with him all the while. Eventually, it just slipped out of your mouth.

"I want to ride a horse,"

"Well then," Johnny beamed, "I'll teach you how!"

First he would let you sit behind him on the saddle, making sure you hugged his waist tightly so as not to fall. He showed you how to grip the reins, how to speed to a gallop and slow to a trot. Then he ventured into more trivial lessons as the two of you rode along: he would name different breeds of horses, all the famous races. But, finally, you convinced him to let you take control.

You were about seven years old when you first gripped the reins for yourself, admittedly quite an early age to be starting. However, Johnny had still started two years before you, and you knew you would never be a match for him. He still sat just behind you whenever you rode, giving small tips and pointers every mile. According to him, you were actually quite the natural jockey.

If it weren't for Johnny, you probably would have never learned just how much you loved to ride. It was something about the wind as it whipped through your hair, your heart lurching up and down with each gallop... His arms wrapped firmly around your waist. Each time you mounted the saddle you remembered his fond touch, his breath in your ear as he whispered encouragement. That was why you rode. That was why you were going to race.

You didn't know if you'd even get anything out of the Steel Ball Run Race. You weren't as good as Johnny Joestar, no one was as good as Johnny Joestar. When you had left for England, he was the most promising young jockey in all of America, save possibly Diego Brando. And last you had heard of him, he had won the Kentucky Derby when he was only sixteen years old.

But after that, there was no word. Your letters back and forth were lost to time, news of his accomplishments rarely reached British ears. Three years passed, during which you lived quietly in your English mansion, training to be the proper found lady your parents desired you to be... And then came the first word from the racing world you had heard in months: The Steel Ball Run.

You trotted through the campgrounds as dust and rank air assaulted your senses. You didn't quite know whether he even had time to participate in such an event. But you couldn't give up your hope of reuniting. After you registered, you had the entire morning before the race to prepare yourself. You stalled your mare and began to explore the grounds, recognising one or two famous jockeys, several amateurs you had beaten long ago... But no Johnny.

Suddenly, a harsh yell, an enraged whinny, a crash of wood and crunching bones. Yet the crowd paid no heed to the earsplitting cries splitting through the air. Each rider was fully invested in his own business, and cared not for his own opponents.

You gritted your teeth in disgust and you pushed your way through the mass of people and up to the pen where the commotion was. Then, you gasped. A man lay on the ground, clutching desperately to the stirrups of the saddle as the stallion dragged him through the dirt. He grunted and flailed his arms as he desperately climbed up the leather straps, only to slip again to the ground. He was beaten and bloody, a wooden shard piercing through his leg. You pace quickened as you approached the gate, appalled that no one else dared to help him.