Hello, how are you? Well, I wanted to request a Joseph Joestar (Stardust Crusaders) x female reader (a few years younger than him, Maybe about 40 years difference? Well no hahaha?)where she joins him to defeat Dio after losing a fight with one of them. That she starts flirting with Joseph about her liking for older men, I don't know if it's understood, I hope so hahaha, well I hope you can do it and if not, no problem, thanks!!
Omggg anon are you trying to create another Josuke situation?? 🙈 Hope you enjoy it, it's another long one!
Silver fox - Joseph x Reader
Word count : 3086 / Reader is written with they/them
The air over the Nile shimmered with heat.
Sunlight pooled like molten gold across the sandstone banks, and even the shadows were sweating. Egypt stretched out before them but the Crusaders weren’t looking at the horizon.
They were looking at you.
“Another one,” Jotaro muttered, the brim of his hat tipping low over his eyes. His voice was flat, unimpressed. “Great.”
You stood across the riverbed, surrounded by rustling palm trees and a menacing glint in your eye. Dio’s command still echoed somewhere deep in your brain, soft as a psalm, firm as a vice.
A slow smile curled your lips.
“Which one of you is the Joestar?”
Joseph stepped forward, half-curious, half-annoyed. “Who’s asking?”
You didn’t answer. Your stand erupted behind you, a boom of light and violence. It twisted the air around you like a mirage made flesh.
Avdol stepped between you. “Get ready.”
You didn’t give them the chance.
Your stand surged forward. Sand exploded underfoot as your power cracked the earth open, rushing at Joseph first. Kill the Joestars.
He sidestepped at the last second with an agility that shouldn’t have belonged to someone with silver hair, gritting his teeth as your stand slashed across his coat instead of his ribs. “Shit, they’re fast!”
Polnareff moved to flank you, Silver Chariot gleaming in the sun. He grinned. “I like their style, daring.”
“You won’t like the dismemberment,” you muttered, and flicked your fingers. Your stand spun in a tight arc, cutting upward with enough force to split metal.
Jotaro caught it mid-strike, or rather Star Platinum did. The impact cracked the air like thunder. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
You slid back, snarling. The flesh bud pulsed amidst your hair. Your heart thudded in beat with it, sick and hot.
Kakyoin’s voice cut through the dust. “That movement - they’re definitely being controlled.”
Joseph wiped the sweat off his brow. “Yeah. I’ve seen that look before.”
The world blurred. Fists, steel, sound. Your stand met theirs in a flurry of vicious strikes, movement honed not by training but by sheer force of will. You weren’t fighting smart. You were fighting hard. Messy. Ferocious. And entirely too reckless.
You were going to kill them, or die trying. That was the order. That was the plan.
And then Jotaro punched you in the face.
You slammed into the sand and everything tilted sideways. You tasted blood. Your stand flickered, shuddered, and faded. You didn’t pass out, not right away. You heard them talking somewhere far off.
“There’s a flesh bud in their hair,” Kakyoin said grimly.
“I can get it,” Jotaro replied, voice low. “Same as last time.”
“They might not survive it.”
“They’re not going to survive if we leave it in,” Joseph snapped.
Something cold and sharp pressed at your temple. You tried to move but strong hands pinned you down.
You woke up with a headache the size of Egypt and a throat like sandpaper.
Everything hurt. Your skull throbbed like it had been used to test blunt weapons, and your limbs felt boneless, too heavy and too empty all at once. For a few blessed seconds, you didn’t know where you were or why your body felt like it had been disassembled and put back together wrong.
The fight. The sun. The voices.
You jolted upright with a gasp and immediately groaned as the world spun.
“Oh good,” came a voice. “Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”
You blinked the blur out of your vision. The guy sitting next to you was huge, tanned, and wearing sunglasses indoors like a goddamn rockstar. His hair was silver, his smile was cocky, and he was crouched low with his arms resting over his knees like he was waiting to offer you a job you couldn’t refuse.
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. “Did I… kill anyone?”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “You tried though.”
You squinted at him. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
He spread his hands like it was obvious. “Because I’m a benevolent man. And my grandson here punched you really hard.”
Ah, right. The hat kid. Fist like a freight train.
You sank back onto the sand with a groan. “Tell your grandson he hits like a-”
“He knows,” Joseph said dryly. “Believe me.”
You lifted your hand to your temple, felt the faint trace of something there. Something missing. “The thing in my head.”
“Gone,” he said. “Flesh bud. Nasty business. Almost took your brain with it on the way out.”
You didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to. He didn’t press.
Instead, he stood up, stretched with a theatrical crack of his spine, and added, “You’re lucky. Another hour or two with that thing, and you wouldn’t be you anymore.”
You stared at the ceiling. “Who said I was ‘me’ to begin with.”
Joseph chuckled. “Touché.”
Another voice piped up from the corner.
“Should we be trusting them?” That one sounded French. And skeptical.
You craned your neck. Yep. There he was. Couldn’t miss that hair.
“Bonjour to you too,” you muttered. “I liked you better when I was trying to kill you.”
“I liked you better unconscious,” he shot back.
Joseph raised a hand. “Alright, alright. Let’s keep it civil. They’re not an enemy anymore.”
“You don’t know that,” the French one snapped.
“They could’ve exploded,” another voice added.
Oh good. Now the whole gang was here.
You looked up to find five faces staring down at you.
You gave a raspy little laugh. “Wow. You guys really are the weirdest boy band I’ve ever seen.”
Joseph beamed. “Thank you!”
“Not a compliment,” you muttered, trying to sit up again. “Where the hell are we?”
“Camp,” said the school uniform. “For now.”
“‘Camp,’” you echoed, “like… sleeping on the ground, bugs everywhere camp?”
“We’re not exactly staying at the Ritz,” said the one with the tarot.
You let your head fall back. “Cool. So I went from assassin to mosquito bait.”
“You also nearly impaled Joseph through the ribs,” said Frenchie.
“Did I?” You blinked at Joseph. “That was you?”
He gave you a lazy wink. “Don’t worry. You missed.”
Then Joseph clapped his hands. “Well, glad we’re all feeling chummy. You can rest for another hour, maybe two. After that, we’re moving.”
“To kill the vampire who put a flesh bud in your brain,” Jotaro said flatly from the doorway.
You met his eyes. Cold. Sharp. Familiar.
“Oh,” you said, dry as the dust around you. “So just the usual Tuesday, then.”
And that, against all odds, was your introduction to the Stardust Crusaders.
You had sand in your mouth. Again.
Waking up was slow, messy and reluctant. Like your body couldn’t quite commit to the idea of consciousness. You’d been in a state of half-dozing for what felt like hours, drifting in and out with the wind scraping against the tent and the murmurs of voices outside.
By the time you sat up fully, your hair was a mess, your spine a question mark, and your entire soul aching with the knowledge that you’d been made to look extremely uncool in front of some very attractive strangers.
“You’re up,” said a voice behind you.
You turned painfully and squinted at the silhouette by the tent flap.
Joseph Joestar, this time without the sunglasses. The light behind him was doing strange things to his hair, like he’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.
He was holding a metal mug and tossed it toward you.
“I’d say drink up, but you might want to rinse the sand out first,” he said, grinning.
You glared at him over the rim. “You’re enjoying this.”
You didn’t say thank you, but you drank it anyway.
The inside of the tent was bare - just blankets, packs, and what looked like an extremely weathered tarot deck lying on the floor. The air smelled like leather and old dust, and the wind outside kept pulling intently at the edges of the canvas.
Joseph crouched by the entrance, forearms resting casually across his knees.
“So,” he said, casually conversational, “still feel like murdering us?”
You wiped your mouth on the back of your hand. “Not unless someone starts talking about fate again.”
“Noted.” He nodded, mock-serious. “We’ll keep the philosophical nonsense to a minimum.”
“You’re handling it better than I expected.”
“Or scream. Or try to throttle Jotaro. That one happens more than you’d think.”
You leaned back, wincing slightly. “I think the attempted murder quota’s been filled for the week.”
Outside, someone laughed. You caught a glimpse of the others - Polnareff doing lunges, Kakyoin sitting on a rock, and Jotaro pretending they didn’t exist.
The whole squad gave off strong field trip energy.
You sighed. “Is this what I signed up for?”
Joseph’s smile widened. “You haven’t signed anything yet.”
You looked at him. Really looked. There was a scar across his cheek. Dust on his sleeves. Calluses on his fingers. He was older than the rest of them. Not just in age, he carried himself differently. Like he knew exactly how bad things could get and still got up every morning to punch fate in the mouth.
“Do you really think you can beat him?” you asked quietly.
Joseph didn’t ask who you meant.
He just leaned back on his heels and said, “We have to.”
No bravado. No wink. Just that.
The tent flap opened. Avdol poked his head in.
“Very much so,” Joseph said. “And only slightly homicidal.”
You raised your mug in a toast. “Progress.”
Avdol gave a noncommittal grunt and disappeared again.
Joseph pushed himself to his feet with a dramatic groan and offered you a hand. “Come on. You’re not gonna win the next fight from inside a tent.”
His grip was warm, firm, steady and annoyingly confident.
As he helped you up, you muttered, “If I collapse in front of everyone, I’m haunting you.”
He grinned sideways. “So dramatic. You’ll fit right in.”
You gave him your most unimpressed glare. “You’re unbearable.”
“Better than unprepared,” he said, brushing the flap aside as sunlight spilled in.
And with that, you followed him out.
The fire was small, but it did the job.
Dinner was some unholy combination of canned beans and what Avdol claimed was “seasoned jerky,” though you were reasonably sure what it was. Polnareff had already made three separate complaints. Jotaro hadn’t spoken since the fire was lit. Kakyoin was poking at his food.
You, meanwhile, were just grateful you hadn’t been stabbed again yet.
Joseph Joestar sat across from you, legs folded loosely, hands moving easily as he talked about something - stand theory, maybe, or his travels in Italy. You weren’t really listening.
You were watching the way his sleeves were rolled up.
Which was fine. Totally fine. You were allowed to have eyes.
You took another bite of beans you didn’t taste.
“Something wrong with the food?” Joseph asked.
You did not, in fact, make a face. Probably.
“Just thinking,” you said vaguely, gesturing with your fork.
He tilted his head a little. Not quite smiling. “Dangerous.”
“Ooh,” Polnareff called out from somewhere behind you, “first banter of the night goes to the new kid!”
“I’m not a kid,” you corrected. Then, for Joseph’s benefit: “Lets go for ‘mysterious drifter.’”
He grinned, teeth flashing in the firelight. “You don’t seem like the mysterious type.”
“And you don’t act like the retired type,” you said with mock-sweetness. “You look it though.”
“Ouch,” Joseph said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Direct hit.”
“Can’t guarantee that,” he muttered, half under his breath, and the air shifted a little - not colder, but closer. Like you’d brushed against something raw and still healing.
You looked at him again. Really looked.
The lines at the corners of his eyes. The way his hands never quite stopped moving, even when he was still. That wild, brilliant recklessness.
You cleared your throat. “So.”
“If I tragically die here tonight,” you said slowly, “can I at least pick the next meal?”
Joseph raised an eyebrow. “You planning on dying before breakfast?”
“Not if I can help it. But this-”you jabbed your fork at the mystery stew- “feels like a test of endurance.”
“Yeah,” Joseph said. “That’s kind of the theme.”
You held his gaze a second longer than necessary.
The conversation kept going - Polnareff telling some ridiculous story, Kakyoin chiming in, Avdol trying to bring the topic back to tactics.
But your focus kept slipping.
Back to the way Joseph’s voice roughened on certain words. The way his hair caught the firelight. The way he looked at you, sometimes, like he wasn’t quite sure what you were yet.
Something new. Something sharp.
Your shoulders had loosened. The fight had finally drained from your hands. And when your eyes met his across the fire, steady and unreadable, something shifted.
After breakfast - which was, as expected, an abomination - everyone split off to prep for travel. You found yourself helping Joseph sorting supplies, mostly because Polnareff had already wandered off to do God knows what and the rest of the crew had learned to leave Joseph to packing.
“Is there a reason this blanket is wrapped like this?” you asked, tightening the straps.
He huffed. “It’s a space-saving technique.”
“That’s not even a comeback.”
Joseph glanced over at you with a crooked grin. “You’re fun when you’re mouthy.”
You leaned in, voice sweet. “You haven’t seen me at my worst.”
His hands faltered slightly on the rope. You caught it. He knew you caught it.
You didn’t press. Just smiled to yourself and moved to the next bundle.
The sun rose higher. The crew grew restless. Somewhere behind you, Kakyoin and Jotaro were arguing over map directions. Avdol sat serenely in the shade.
You moved to the water flasks, giving them a shake. Nearly empty.
Joseph stood nearby, now elbow-deep in a saddlebag, swearing softly.
“Need help?” you offered.
“I need a drink,” he muttered.
You smirked. “That sounds like an invitation.”
That got him. He paused, turned, and gave you the kind of look that said: Careful.
Instead, he said, “You always this flirtatious, or is it just the heat?”
You tipped your head, mock-thoughtful. “I do have a type.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, voice casual.
“Older men. Preferably ones with a tragic backstory and unresolved emotional trauma.”
He barked a laugh. “You’re terrible.”
“You’re my target demographic.”
Joseph groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
You leaned on the edge of the pack mule, watching him with deliberate ease. “Only if you’re interested.”
And then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, you winked.
Joseph Joestar, world-class Hamon user, veteran adventurer, and proud smartass… actually blushed.
It was subtle. Barely a flicker. But it was there.
“Alright,” he said, coughing into his hand. “That’s enough. Go bother Polnareff.”
He turned away, muttering something under his breath, but his shoulders weren’t as tense. If anything, he looked like he was trying not to smile.
The others called out that it was time to move, and the pack began gathering again, brushing dust off clothes and readying mounts.
As you walked past Joseph, he caught your wrist, just briefly.
“Don’t get used to the teasing,” he said, voice low. “I’m a married man.”
You glanced down at his hand on yours.
“Relax,” you murmured. “I’m just here to fight Dio.”
Then you tugged free and kept walking - cool, casual and in control.
But you didn’t miss the way he watched you go.
By the time the group had mounted up and started heading toward the next town, the sun was a merciless glare in the sky and your earlier exchange with Joseph had cooled, at least on the surface.
Beneath that? Smoldering. Tension. Absolute scandal.
Unfortunately, Polnareff had eyes.
He scurried beside Joseph, grinning like he’d just uncovered state secrets. “Soooooo…”
Joseph sighed. “So what.”
“What’s up with them?” Wink wink.
Joseph nearly fell off his horse. “Excuse me?!”
“They’re not hard to read, you know. All that smiling and hair twirling. You’re not exactly subtle either, gramps.”
“They’re not- I’m not- There’s nothing going on!”
From further back, Kakyoin calmly flipped a page in his book. “That’s not what your ears said earlier.”
“Your ears. They turn red when they talk to you.”
Avdol let out the kind of sigh that could wither crops.
You raised a hand and waved over your shoulder. “Miss me already?”
Polnareff gasped. “SEE?!”
Joseph groaned. “Stop. All of you. I’m a married man!”
“You say that,” Polnareff replied, “but you’ve got big midlife crisis energy.”
From the very back, where he’d been brooding, Jotaro finally spoke.
Joseph stiffened. “Jotaro-”
“I think I don’t want to wake up in twenty years to some random teenager punching through walls and yelling Dora Dora at the furniture.”
Joseph froze. “What does that even mean?!”
Jotaro didn’t elaborate. Just gave him a long, withering look.
Avdol sighed. “You walked into that one.”
Polnareff wiped away a tear. “He really did.”
You finally glanced over your shoulder and smiled. “Do you think it’d have your eyes?”
Joseph groaned like he was seconds away from throwing himself off the saddle. “Don’t encourage them.”
He didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything else.
But he didn’t deny it either.
Instead, he let the silence settle, easy and unbothered, as the horses carried you forward beneath the burning sky.
The desert stretched out ahead - heat rising in slow, shimmering waves, hooves thudding in rhythm, and the sound of laughter trailing behind you like dust in the wind.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything.
But it wasn’t nothing, either.
