22 | They/Them
I’m a hobbyist writer, who specializes in writing reader-centric content.
I’ve been writing for years, and enjoy creating stories and artwork.
All of my reader-centric content will be as gender neutral as possible, unless stated/requested otherwise.
MASTERLIST
Media I write for
Genshin Impact
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure (1-5)
JJK (Anime only)
Attack on Titan (s 1-3)
I WILL write
x reader
dark content
yandere
suggestive themes
fluff
angst
smut (only canonically of age characters)
I WILL NOT write
Non-con
Dd/lg
Incest
Any content about minors that is not platonic
Types of writing I do
Fics
HCs
Drabbles
RULES for requests
Tell me which characters you’d like
A promt/scenario/idea
What au (sagau, regular, subversions of sagau etc)
If you specifically want yandere/darker themes please include it in the request!
For poly related requests, please try to include the dynamic (for example, 2 characters and reader, are the 2 also dating each other, or both only dating reader)
About my personal tags
#dew.nsfw - 18+ works (smut) (blacklist/avoid if you’re not into that)
#dew answers - me answering asks that are not necessarily requests
#dew rambles - what it says on the box, not writing, but may occasionally be writing ideas or brainrots, sometimes just me rambling abt something menial
#dew’s art - art made by me! Usually genshin related
The crisp morning air that followed every visitor of the bakery hung heavy with a sense of unease, quiet chatter brewing between regulars with agitated strokes in their tones. It left you feeling rather confused and frankly, out of the loop. Still, you kept yourself busy, unwilling to pry into whatever was creating most of your clientele concern on this day. Albeit wanting to satiate your curiosity, you were willing to move past it, until you were greeted by the familiar face of a middle aged frail woman rushing in, eyes puffy and red, her hands trembling as she ushered in her two youngest. Their eyes were wide with confusion as they clung to her side, almost as frazzled as her.
Your gaze snapped to them as you hurried over, heartbeat rushing in your ears.
“Mrs. Taylor?” you asked, flickering your attention from her children to herself. Her lips trembled ever so slightly as she met your gaze, swallowing heavily. You placed your hand tentatively on her shoulder, guiding her away from the front door gently, unsure what to say, what to ask.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to come to- I-” her bony hand clung onto yours, desperate eyes burning into yours. Her skin was coarse from bitter winters and hours spent washing laundry by hand. “Charles was here yesterday, wasn’t he?”
You could only nod in your confusion, biting the inside of your cheek as her grip tightened.
“When did he leave?” she asked, her unease only growing at your affirmation.
“Around four, I believe? I wasn’t keeping track of the time…” you felt your throat constrict, a creeping chill climbing up your back and wrapping its hands around your airway. “Did something happen to Charles?” you managed to choke out, dread pooling in your stomach.
She nodded weakly. “Authorities dragged him off last night. They accused him of stealing from some wealthy man!” she managed to breathe out, voice unsteady.
“That’s not possible! He would never do that,” you argued, indignation mixing in with dread, your body coursing with the buzz.
Mr. Taylor’s eyes swept across the mostly-empty space before lowering her voice even more. “They found the man’s wallet with Charles’ belongings. I don’t want to- I can’t believe it. There must be some other explanation…I had hoped that perhaps you’d have anything to refute this claim but…the timing seems to add up, too.” The woman’s eyes watered, bitter tears leaving tracks across her ghostly face.
You, too, wanted to cry. Your eyes stung with the burn of holding them back, a painful lump in your throat as you eyed the family. Despite your best efforts, you were once more reminded of the harsh words of your old friend. Words disparaging Charles. You grit your teeth, pushing back against the creeping doubt in your mind.
You felt like a terrible person.
The rest of the day breezed by in a blur. You could barely comprehend your surroundings, the voices and faces of customers blending into an incomprehensible mess. More than once, you had to flee to the kitchen, taking deep breaths to ground yourself. More than once, you found yourself flipping back and forth on your thoughts regarding the young man. Each time, the chasm of despair bloomed wider in your chest.
Soon enough, the sun began its descent and you were bitterly preparing to close the establishment. You would have to use your day off to check in on Charles’ family. With a heavy sigh, you set aside your broom and untied your apron, folding it up monotonously. Every movement of your hands felt mechanical, even more guilt clawing its way into the back of your mind. The strange mixture of concern, doubt and helplessness spread through your veins, burrowing deep into your every joint.
Your disparaging thoughts were interrupted by the chime of a bell, a chilly evening breeze brushing against the nape of your neck. Your movements halted.
Had you forgotten to put out the sign?
You whipped around sheepishly, hoping the would-be client would be understanding.
The apron in your hands dropped, hitting the ground with a muffled thud.
There, before you, stood a man you would always recognize. The man who had haunted you with countless letters since your last encounter. Countless letters you had cast aside in your anger towards him. Even now, as your hairs stood on end, you could feel the faint warmth of the flames of your past anger lapping at you.
He greeted you with a polite nod of his head, taking off his hat in a theatrical manner. You would have, at the very least, cracked a faint smile at his antics before. Now you stood, watching him with a furrowed brow and a tightness in your chest. You wanted to turn around. Command him to leave. Wished he would simply leave you be.
But it wouldn’t - no, couldn’t be that easy.
“We’re closed,” you finally spoke, your voice strained as you forced the words out past your clenched teeth. Your throat constricted, painful as you attempted to steady your breath.
Dio’s expression faltered, ever so slightly. A twitch of his brow accompanied by the quickest flash of his teeth.
“My apologies. I was nearby and wanted to see if you were well,” he spoke at last, voice much softer than you had expected it to be, your body tensing in advance. Even his expression softened, his ever piercing eyes holding no glare. Instead, his gaze peered at you curiously, sweeping over you in a manner that seemed studious, rather than spiteful or demeaning. Still, your arms crossed quickly in an attempt to shield both your body and mind from him.
His harsh words echoed in your head, bouncing against the walls of your skull and ringing even louder with each graze.
Dio paused for a moment, before taking a step forward. Your gaze snapped to meet his. Every muscle in your form screamed at you to step away, to keep the distance separating you intact. Spitefully, you refused to honor that desire. You would not cower before him.
“I am well. You may leave,” you answered, eyes narrowing as you regarded him with suspicion. Your voice had gained back some of its strength, emboldened by your defiance. If your tone or the dismissive words had offended the blonde, he showed no sign of it, his features still soft. Still perfect.
“Is that so? You sound…” he paused, as if searching for the right word, “concerned.” With that said, he took another step closer, a blend of aromatic teas and extracts seeping into the air around you. Your lips twitched into the barest inkling of a grimace before you composed yourself.
“Dio, I don’t wish to argue right now. Please leave. I need to go see someone.” It wasn’t a complete lie. You had indeed intended on visiting Charles’ family the following day, but if this aided in ending this awkward encounter, you would be glad to do it this very eve.
“Why haven’t you answered any of my letters?” Dio asked, straightening his posture. His face was still the ever perfect mask of composure, yet a slight sharpness accompanied his words.
You lowered your gaze. You had no wish to endure his insults. Your last encounter had left you feeling bitter and as though any ounce of your old friend that had remained in the young man was gone, wiped away like an embarrassing stain.
He sighed, expression softening once more.
“Where are you off to in such a rush?” he conceded, retreating a few steps. Finally, you could breathe again. Still, the vice-like grip your flurry of emotions held on your chest refused to ease.
“To visit Charles’ family.” Your threat still burned from the strain as you averted your gaze, finally gaining enough sense to pick your crumpled apron off the floor and dust it off. Feeling the tremor in your hands, you resulted in simply draping it across the counter, vowing to deal with it properly once you returned.
Dio hummed, his voice low, barely audible if not for the emptiness of the space surrounding the two of you.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked, voice strung with tension despite the attempt at sounding light. Your brows furrowed once more, the weight in your chest growing even heavier.
“Something happened to him, and I’m trying to…I need to hear if there’s been any developments,” you managed to spew out, the need to relieve this burden of worry outweighing your apprehensions regarding Dio. You chewed on your lip, peeking at the man from the corner of your eye. His demeanor stiffened, something akin to cold concern forming on his features.
“What happened?” he asked, detachment lingering in his words. You knew well enough he cared little for those you considered friends, or peers at the very least. Nonetheless, the need to relieve this burden screamed louder in your mind than the warning bells chiming faintly.
“He was arrested for stealing,” you spoke barely above a whisper. “It was some rich man and they found enough evidence to put him away.” Tears of frustration burned the corners of your strained eyes.
“Not that it matters to you,” you managed to add, albeit unable to conceal your bitterness. Dio simply scoffed softly, the sound soft and airy, barely audible.
“I know we parted on a fight when we last met, (Name), but I do wish to mend our…” he paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words.
That would be a first for him.
“...Camaraderie,” he finally concluded, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile that held no warmth.
You pursed your lips, fighting the urge to simply answer him with an annoyed huff and sending him on his way. Still, under the weight of his heavy gaze, you felt limited in your actions, as though caught in a snare that would snatch you up as soon as you attempted to flee. Sucking in a trembling breath, you peered up at him pensively. He played the part of a remorseful gentleman well enough. Were it not ingrained in your mind so deeply, it would have been easy to forget his cruelty.
“How am I to trust that you are sincere? I do not know if it was the years that changed you, or your rise in status, but you are no longer the boy I knew.”
He blinked, taken aback by your newfound bluntness. You suppose you had always been rather meek, after all.
Then, his lips curled into a devious smile, smooth like a steady stroke of the brush in a master’s hand, painting upon the canvas of his face a youthful boyish delight.
“I think it is you that has changed,” he spoke, bowing ever so slightly and peering at you through his golden lashes. His features softened. “But I understand that I have been a bit too callous as of late.”
It was as much of an apology as you were going to get. That, at the very least, was much like the Dio you knew. The edges of your hardened heart began to thaw, melting away some of the tension keeping your body strung. Your lips parted but the only sound that escaped you was a drawn out sigh.
“I really do have to get going, Dio,” you whispered, no longer spitting out words with cold anger. The air was heavy with tension still, buzzing with a surge of something suppressive and chilling.
“You mentioned stealing? From someone wealthy, yes?” he asked, his commanding voice forcing your gaze to meet his again. You blinked before answering with a timid nod, embarrassment seeping into the back of your mind.
You wanted to believe Charles was innocent.
But was he?
Despite wishing you were better than that, you felt shame seeping into the crevices of your body, lighting up your nerves with flashes of hot and cold alike.
His eyes watched you with intensity that left you feeling bare.
“Funny you should say that,” his lips twitch ever so slightly. “I was robbed by a young man last night myself.”
A chill swept across your body much like the icy winds of a winter storm. Dryness filled your mouth, tongue sticking uncomfortably to the roof of your mouth as you processed his words. Blood felt more like ice in your veins, a deep sense of unease crawling under your skin, its scaly back leaving bumps in its wake on the canvas of your skin.
“What…what did you say?” you asked in a quivering voice, unable to swallow the bitter lump in your throat. You were unsure if he could even understand your muddled words, the rushing sound in your ears leaving you to feel as though you were sinking into the Thames.
He swept a chilling look across you, his eyes studying you meticulously, taking his time to answer. Not a single muscle of his face twitched.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“I did not recognize the boy at first, but I reassure you that had I done so, I would have simply cut my losses and refrained from reporting it.” He sounded surprisingly sincere, despite the uneasy smoothness of his features. At last, the mask cracked to reveal an apologetic grimace. He almost looked embarrassed.
You could feel your feet tremble below you, leaving you to lean upon a nearby counter. Raking your sweaty palms across your clothes, you could only come to one conclusion.
Charles was guilty, after all.
No matter what terms you had parted on with Dio, you felt an ache in your chest at his assurance.
Would he really have allowed your friend to escape consequences, had he known?
You couldn’t be sure if you believed it, fully, but the boyish embarrassment of his face took you back to your youth, to when his mannerisms and emotions were much less refined and guarded.
You wanted to believe that he was still a good man.
You sucked in a hesitant breath, stealing a glance at him. He was watching you expectantly, making no move to close the distance between you.
Dio had sensed something in Charles that you had not, previously, had he not? Perhaps he had been right.
Your face buried itself in trembling hands.
“I’m so sorry about him,” you finally whispered, not daring to look at him. Any sense of anger towards him had washed away, replaced now with shame.
Dio had been right about Charles. Was he right about you, too?
You could hear the rustling of cloth, his heavy steps on the creaky wooden floors and his rich wooden aroma flooding your senses as he approached. Peeking out from between your trembling fingers, you were met with the sight of his chest mere inches from you. His arm raised slowly, drawing a barely contained flinch from you. Your whole body tensed as his heavy hand rested upon your shoulder. It was as if the whole weight of the world lay behind that palm, pressing down in a manner that should have flattened you.
“It’s not your fault, (Name),” he spoke softly, his voice sounding like a content purr. Despite the situation, he seemed surprisingly pleased. “I know you prefer to see the good in people. Besides, he probably did need the money,” he chuckled coldly, his warm breath fanning against your face. You struggled to find a response, tongue suddenly twisting up into knots and mangling any coherent thoughts you could have voiced. The weight on your shoulder eased as he caressed the side of your arm with a ghostly touch before withdrawing it.
“I do not think his behaviour should reflect badly upon you. I know you are better than that. You and I both strive to do better.” The mask slipped, revealing a knowing smile and a dark look in his eyes.
You could only nod shakily in response. He hummed softly, seemingly weighing between choices in the locked away depths of his mind. Briefly, you could catch the hint of a twitch in his fingers before he quickly stilled his hand.
“I owe you an apology for last time, I suppose. Would you care to join me for dinner again?”
He sounded so perfectly polite, so pristinely gentlemanly. After the embarrassment of Dio’s harsh assessments on Charles turning out to be true, you found it hard to decline, despite the discomfort settling in the pit of your stomach once more.
Your lips formed a tight smile as you accepted the offer.
Perhaps you could, indeed, move past your last encounter. Perhaps, despite his crime, you could convince the genteel to pull some strings regarding your friend. Perhaps, this time, you would be able to prove to both Dio and yourself that you had made something of yourself.
I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞
The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔
Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊
Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ❤🍉
Blood of Ambition: Chapter 6 - Lurking In The Dark
Dio x reader
Um....Dio isn't a great person in this! Kinda possessive and. Yea
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Something uncomfortable nipped at the back of Dio’s mind. It wasn’t painful, yet the ever present sensation refused to ebb away no matter what course of action he took. He felt hollow. Like a magnet trying to find its way back to the other half, only to be stopped by a surface between them. It trickled down from his pain, onto his tongue, lacing his words with far more venom than he’d used in a while. It trickled down even further, eroding away the insides of his chest, of his stomach. It burned, the sensation similar to a rabid cat trying to claw its way out, ripping mindlessly at flesh in desperation.
Dio hated it.
It made him feel too weak.
It clouded his judgement.
He sighed, running his hand through a tangle of golden locks. They’d grown much longer during his studies, as he’d found no need to trim them. It suited him, he’d heard from others. Made him look somewhat regal. He figured it only right he’d embrace that.
The blank page before him stared at him, mocking him for his scattered thoughts. How foolish of it, Dio thought bitterly as he cast a glance at the discarded pile of it’s crumpled brethren.
He could feel his jaw tightening, teeth clashing against each other almost painfully, grinding away at one another in a destructive battle. His fingers gripped around the quill, ignoring the painful sensation flowing through his arm as the material dug into flesh. His mind refused to cooperate, unwilling to do the job set out for it. Assignments held little importance in the forefront of his thoughts, when something much more impactful had stolen away his attention.
Months had passed, autumn bleeding into winter, winter withdrawing into spring. The incessant singing of cheerful birds outside his window irritated him to no end each morning. The sun began stealing moments for itself, pushing past dark and heavy clouds and beaming down brightly for all to enjoy.
Yet Dio couldn’t help feeling as though he alone had been captured in a singular moment. No matter the changes in his appearance, no matter the weather outside, he was imprisoned in limbo. No letters had come since his last encounter with you. Dio didn’t often lower himself to reaching out more than once after his initial attempts were rebutted. Yet he still found himself writing follow up, perhaps secretly hoping you had good reason not to respond in a timely manner. After weeks bled into months, that could clearly no longer be the case.
It angered him, your sudden callous distance.
What right did someone like you have to ignore someone like him?
Those thoughts were strong, burning hot in his mind, in his chest, tightening the drawstrings around his heart. Moments after cursing your very being, however, he could feel something pitiful wash over him. Melancholy. Distaste for his own thoughts. Your mere existence was weakening him. The lack of it was actively causing him distress.
Many times, he considered marching over to London and giving you a piece of his mind. Tear into you with feral rage, rip open your skin and flesh til you were nothing but a pile of gore. That desire was often followed by a feeling of wrongness. Something sharp and painful. The thought of watching the light leave your eyes frightened him. He’d been no stranger to taking a life. He took pride in it, regarding the lives of others as far below himself, after all. Thinking of snuffing out the Joestar line brought him no such tightness in the chest.
You had done something to him. Perhaps when you had first met all those years ago. Despite your miserable state, your human weakness, he could not discard you as he wished he could. How could you possibly discard him? Perhaps his words had been unkind. Perhaps he had undermined you. But his goal was to make you rise. Rise from the ashes of your pathetic life of poverty and blossom into something as magnificent as he. Stand beside him as you had for all those years. Look into his eyes with sincere affection as you whisper his name. As you told him he could achieve all he wanted to.
He knew his temper was getting out of hand. He’d been cooler than usual to Jonathan, allowing his mask to drift. He’d been more curt with Lord Joestar, too. It goes without saying that the servants and his schoolmates bore the brunt of his frustrations.
What was he to do?
His nineteenth had come and gone. You hadn’t sent him your congratulations. The lavish gifts he had received stood in his room untouched. All he could do was stew in an ever growing pit of resentment that soured his every action. His only cold comfort was the fact he must only wait a couple more years to enact his plans. At the very least, soon he’d be a wealthy lawyer with a hefty inheritance.
Jonathan, despite it all, was a pest. The kindness he so generously distributed made bile rise in his throat. It was pathetic. It was weak. Still, he supposed, it helped his cause.
At times like these, however, Dio was forced to consider that perhaps Jonathan wasn’t as much of an oaf as he’d thought him to be.
“Would you like to join me in London? I’m attending a seminar there and thought that…a change of scenery might do you good.” The offer was genuine. There was no malice, no sneer, behind those words. Still, Dio bristled at the idea. It felt like an insult. Like some sort of pity. His teeth dug into his cheek to hold back his tongue from spraying venom.
“A change of scenery?” he mused, his voice strained. If Jonathan took note, he did not speak on it.
“Very well. When will we be setting out?”
With that, he’d been confined to a carriage ride shared with the Joestar brat not long after. He managed to bite his tongue, reign his temper. Managed to come across as relatively pleasant. He could see the faint outlines of a mask clinging to his companion’s features as well, his eyes flashing with something more suspenseful now and then. Something simmered behind those serene blue eyes. Perhaps Dio wasn’t alone in his games.
He discarded the brief sense of unease that thought brought him. No matter what, Dio would win in the end. All he had to do was keep it together for a couple more years. Soon, he would be allowed to rip the mask from his face and allow it to shatter.
Their lodgings were lavish as usual, no expenses spared on food or drink. After an exhausting journey, Jonathan was quick to retire into his quarters to freshen up. Dio supposed he should allow himself the same freedoms, if he were to accomplish his goal. He had to look presentable. Healthy. Radiant. No crack of insecurity or restless nights could be allowed to slip past his mask. For the first time in so long, he found his hands shaking as he tamed his hair, staring at his visage in the mirror. A hot flash of anger burst in his veins, bubbling under the skin and tinging the corners of his vision in white. Something animalistic deep within him screamed obscenities into his ears, urging him to lunge forward and shatter the reflective surface.
He restrained himself, leaning onto his dresser as unsteady heaves rippled through his frame.
Something was deeply wrong with him.
Control and restraint were slipping through his fingers by the minute, threatening to tear off his skin and reveal all the ugliness hidden under porcelain smiles and gilded words. He hated it. He had yet to experience such spiraling emotions since the death of his father. Yet now, despite being older and wiser, he still felt like a little boy cowering before his father’s raised fist.
It simply would not do.
It was well past noon by the time he’d managed to soothe his frayed nerves and smooth out his appearance. The bleak spring sun was high in the sky, vigilantly casting an unified glow across the streets of London. Dio found himself sneering at the grime and filth it highlighted. Still, swallowing his distaste, his feet led him to a location that had become so very familiar to him.
The bakery.
Sweet aromas of baked goods wafted across the streets, greeting him before he even saw the establishment. It was both right and wrong at the same time. Your very existence sent him spiraling on many sleepless nights, questioning his very being. He both loathed and admired you at the same time.
He came to a halt not far from the building, peering through the window from across the road. As expected, he could make out your silhouette bustling through the store, unchanged from when he’d last seen you. If nerves and doubts plagued your minds as they did his, you showed no signs of it.
Of course you were not alone. Clients filtered in and out as he watched, feet rooted firmly in place on the cobbled streets. Were his mind more at ease, he would have felt the stiffness setting into his back and legs, yet the discomfort was overshadowed by the unwelcome gloom breeding within him.
What finally snapped him from his trance, was the sight of another vaguely familiar figure entering the bakery, a wide smile spread across his gaudy features. Dio could feel sudden heat bursting past a dam, flooding his frame with fury and frustration.
That pesky regular of yours.
Through the window, he could see the way he leered at you, leaning closer across the counter, breaking past the norms of decent politeness. His fingers grazed your arm, lingering longer than they should have. He reminded Dio of a dog. Desperate and mindless. Lead only by impulse and instinct. He could hardly believe you would allow this, yet you made no show of discomfort or unease. A serene smile settled across your face as you chatted away, motioning towards the display with a graceful flick of your hand. Briefly, you laughed, eyes crinkling as your hand rose to cover your mouth.
The fire within Dio could only continue to rise, flames of anger flickering from the tips of his fingers to the back of his skull.
The young man was rooted in his spot for longer than he would have liked to admit, gaze glued on the silent show played out before him. Finally, after a stretch of time that seemed both unendingly long and incredibly short at the same time, that vermin left the premises. Dio’s cold gaze followed his movements, narrowing in suspicion. Before he could even pose the question for himself, his feet moved without his input, trailing behind the offending man. His steps were soft and innocuous, veiled by the busy streets of afternoon London. He couldn’t quite decide what it was that urged him to follow. There was nothing remarkable about the man. Perhaps that was why. It was difficult to swallow the bitter reality that you would rather speak with someone so insignificant than him. Him, who despite his greatness made space for you in his life. Him, who took time to write to you. Him, who remembered you all these years, despite his desire to bury and burn any fragments of his past.
It felt like a personal slight. It was you, who should have been pining and yearning for even a sliver of his attention.
So why was he the one navigating the labyrinthian streets of the dirty capital, trailing behind a man he would have not spared even a second glance?
He could not find an answer that would satisfy him.
So, he followed. Like a predator stalking prey. His victim moved at a leisurely pace, clutching a small bundle wrapped in paper. Pastries from the bakery, no doubt. He led the way from the bustling streets towards the more familiar, narrow and dirty alleyways. Living quarters were just as cramped as the streets, large groups packed into small houses. The familiar scent of sick and misery invaded Dio's nostrils, burning, overwhelming. Despite his best efforts to contain himself, a shudder creeped down his spine. He felt dirty himself for entering this scene that he had sworn to leave behind.
The man finally came to a halt, entering a pathetic hovel. It was, admittedly, not the worst Dio had seen, but certainly unimpressive and foul. Even from his measured distance, he could make out the sight of the young man being tackled into a hug by his younger siblings, before turning to an aging frail woman. The sudden lurch in his stomach made his feet sway underneath him. His teeth clashed together angrily as he reeled the unpleasant sensations back, sucking a deep breath past his lips, feeling the rancid air whistle through them.
He had work to do.
By the time Dio returned to his lodgings, his spirits had lifted significantly. A cold smile stretched across his lips as he caught sight of himself in the faint reflection of a window. He paused briefly, tousling his hair and ripping open the first button of his coat. He had to make his display believable. As much as he hated to appear weak, this would help tackle some of his problems for now. He was never above playing a little dirty if it got the desired results, after all. With a deep inhale, he smoothed the features of his delicate mask before entering the townhouse.
He was greeted by a servant, who he waved over with an agitated flick of his wrist. The young man looked confused, surprised to even be addressed by the young lord. Dio caught a flicker of panic washing over his features before he managed to catch himself.
“How may I help you, sir?” he asked, voice timid and small. It was laughable, yet Dio kept his cool.
“I need you to fetch Scotland Yard for me. Make it quick. I was stolen from.” Dio’s voice took on a sharp edge, his features darkening as he put on a masterful display of embarrassment and anger. The young servant could only nod before rushing off and out of the door. As soon as he was out of sight, the blonde sank into a plush seat nearby, rubbing his temples. The warmth of the room washed over him, sinking into him gently and soothing the tension in his back. Now, all he needed to do was wait. He would emerge victorious from this simple game of chess, soon enough. Perhaps, then, he could plan out his next move.
I started playing infinity nikki which tbf i quite like so far despite sadly being a victim of the constant lags :((( my pc could run genshin with ease so idk what the issue is lol
in other news i am redownloading genshin so hopefully i can get back into it
Dio Brando x Reader (AFAB reader but no gendered pronouns)
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Lately, a weight had settled in the pit of your stomach, an ever-present dread that refused to loosen its grip. No amount of work, cooling strolls beneath the setting sun nor restless nights could alleviate it. It clung to you like a persistent shadow, sinking its claws deeper no matter what you did. It left you feeling weak, cursing yourself for not being able to fight it off with ease.
If you were to look for the source, it would lead you back to him. It had sunk its teeth into you the moment your old friend waltzed back into your life with the might of a conqueror as though he had never even left. But he had left. And the man wearing his skin was no longer the same. .
Your brows knitted together as you recalled the last time you had seen him.
Dio swept the door of the bakery open with a courteous bow, holding it open like a true gentleman. The gesture was simple, yet amusing enough to earn a weary smile from you as you walked past him. He followed in suit, light as a cat on his feet. You could barely hear him, the only indication you weren’t alone was the sensation of his eyes bearing into the back of your head.
You tried to soothe your worries, eager for reassurance. You turned around, hoping the familiar sight of the blonde’s face would be enough. Reassurance that this was the boy you had grown up beside.
Your eyes found a stranger, his face cloudy as a stormy night. As your gazes locked, his face cleared, a lighter, softer expression resting across his features. But all you could picture was him quickly donning a mask.
He spoke, interrupting your thoughts, “Charles, was it? The boy we ran into?” His tone was polite enough, yet you could sense the edge of something else slicing into it. Something you couldn’t put a name to.
Your lips formed a tight smile. “Yes. Although he’s not much of a boy anymore. He’s a year older than you and I,” you spoke, forcing a chuckle past your lips as you attempted to lighten the mood. You just barely caught the twitch in his smile.
“Ah, I see. My mistake.” His gaze bore into yours invasively, causing you to look away under the strain.
“There’s something about him that doesn’t quite sit right with me. Perhaps I’m overthinking it.”
His words froze you on the spot, your eyes snapping back to his. Your lips parted, yet no words left them.
His expression shifted, something akin to concern overtaking his face. “My apologies. I don’t mean to be unkind to your…friends.”
His words seemed sincere, yet his eyes - they seemed to be hiding something more.
But this was Dio. Your old friend. Despite everything, you and him shared a past. Despite everything, he had treated you to an afternoon of luxury. Despite everything, he had always been able to read people so well.
You finally dared to speak, “what do you mean by that?”
His eyes seemed to light up at that.
“Sometimes the people closest to us can have the most… unexpected motives,” he paused, sizing you up for a moment before continuing, “I simply found his demeanour around you a little alarming. One could almost say improper, with the way he was looking at you.”
At the time you had simply shaken off his speculation as just that - speculation. It was odd for him to comment on your friend with such ease despite barely knowing him, but Dio always did have a habit of looking down on others. Why he never did so to you directly mystified you to no end. Still, his words had planted something in your mind and you found yourself more weary around the man these days. You hated to doubt Charles, but you also hated to doubt Dio. It left you at an odd crossroads.
Months had passed since. From Dio’s letters you had learned that he had started his higher education alongside Jonathan. Of course, he’d been rather braggadocious in his letters, comparing his schoolmates to insects and animals of each kind in subtle, demeaning ways. It was uncomfortable, as he looked down on others for their looks, their manners, their wealth. It all felt rather arrogant. His words never eased the sense that he must have seen you similarly, right?
Still, you did your best to simply appreciate his looming presence in your life.
You shuddered as you ducked into the narrow alleyway, the sharp autumn breeze slicing through your clothes and seeping under your skin relentlessly. Clutching the small treat you’d managed to procure tightly to your chest, you allowed yourself a fleeting sigh of relief. You’d outrun them. The candy was safe.
Your moment of solace was short-lived, however. The booming voices and mean-spirited cackles echoed through the streets, growing ever closer and bringing forth a new wave of panic. You could feel your tiny heart fluttering against your ribcage like a trapped bird, frenziedly trying to escape.
Spinning on your heel, you searched the dim alley for any chance of escape, only for your blood to run cold when you saw the brick wall ahead—a dead end.
You bit down hard on your lip, forcing yourself to stay calm as you turned back, hoping against hope that you’d manage to slip out of the alleyway quickly. To your despair, there was no chance of that. The boys were there, shadows spilling into the alley as they blocked your only means of escape. Their faces sported wolfish grins, baring their teeth at you as they sized you up with their gazes. Their sizes and numbers alone were a threat, outnumbering you three to one. There was no way out of this.
Your breath hitched as you fought the sting in your eyes, tears pricking and threatening to fall. You gripped the candy tighter, your only comfort as the lump in your throat swelled. Despite your every effort to hold steady, you were trembling.
You were afraid.
A broken cry pressed past your lips, something truly hopeless and weak. All you could do was take an unsteady step backwards as they gained on you. You could only hope they’d leave you alone once you surrendered your candy, no matter how much you’d been looking forward to finally getting to indulge in something lovely.
Despite the cruelty that fate had shown you so far, your prayers were answered as a commanding voice echoed through the narrow passage.
“That’s quite pathetic of you three. Picking on a girl that much smaller than you.”
Your watery eyes raised to search for this angel, the weight on your chest easing as you noticed a familiar blonde glowering at the confused trio.
You wanted to cry out to him, but all you could manage was a thankful smile as he took a proud step closer.
Your hands worked the dough with more force than necessary, the sticky mass resisting your movements until a sharp pain shot up your forearm. Flinching, you hissed under your breath quietly, relinquishing your hold and flexing your fingers to ease the sensation. You felt overwhelmed as of late.
With a weary sigh you tossed the dough into a bowl, covering it with cloth and setting it aside for the night. It would have risen enough come morning. Dried clumps clung stubbornly to your hands, pulling the skin taut in a way that made you grimace. Rubbing your hands together furiously you peeled some of it off, allowing it to crumble to the counter. Sweeping the remains into a bin with an irritated motion, you turned towards the water basin, eager to rinse them off.
You were interrupted by a furious pound on the front door of the bakery. The noise made you jump, and in your haste, you nearly toppled the water pail. Heart thudding, you froze, staring toward the darkened storefront.
Who would it be at this hour? The bakery had been closed for a couple hours by now.
Wiping your hands into your apron to the best of your abilities in haste, you hesitated at the threshold of the kitchen. The storefront was dark, only the faint light from the street peering in through the windows. An impatient knock rang against the door again. You glanced around cautiously.
Did they not see the sign?
Swallowing the lump of unease forming in your throat, you crept into the store. Your footsteps were soft against the wooden door as you neared the front door. The hair on your neck rose and you cautiously unlatched the door, pulling it open just as far as the chain attached would allow. A cold evening breeze tickled your nose and cheeks, combing through stray strands of loose hair. Your gaze swept upwards until it landed on the figure standing outside, coming face to face with a man donned in a dark cloak that nearly obscured him in the dim night. Beneath a similarly dark hat, golden strands of hair escaped its confines, glinting in the warm glow of street lamps.
You felt your heart beat faster, acutely aware of its existence now.
“Dio?” you whispered, voice barely audible, hands trembling. You couldn’t tell if it was the cold or your nerves.
The man’s lips curled into a smile, his teeth gleaming white in the dim light. It was a charming smile, one that might have been disarming if not for the unease crawling up your spine.
“I was in the area and thought I’d pay you a visit,” he spoke in a low voice, his eyes glinting with amusement. You could only take a shuddering breath, lungs pushing miserably against your torso as you tried to regain your calm.
“At this hour?” you asked, trying to keep your voice straight and reprimanding. All it seemed to accomplish was to further entertain the young man.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asked, ignoring your question as though it was not even worth addressing. Your expression tightened in annoyance, however the unease was slowly dissipating from your body, the slope of your shoulders easing. With an annoyed huff and roll of your eyes, you unlatched the chain and opened the door, stepping aside to allow Dio entry.
You trailed behind him quietly and lit the oil lamp resting on the counter. Its soft, flickering glow came to life slowly, forcing the heavy shadows of the room to retreat and make way for soft light. The light caressed Dio’s features, illuminating his sharp cheekbones and casting faint shadows under his eyes. It made his presence feel larger than life in your modest establishment.
Turning to face him you crossed your arms pensively across your chest. The weight of unanswered questions felt crushing.
“What are you doing in London? Aren’t you supposed to be at school? Or home?” you pried, tone edging on stern yet your curiosity betrayed you. You eyed Dio up and down. His attire was surprisingly modest compared to his usual flare. The tailored fabric of his coat and trousers spoke of their quality, yet there was a curious lack of color. It was almost unsettlingly uncharacteristic for him to be clad this inconspicuously. For someone who thrived on standing out, on having eyes on him, it felt wrong.
“My schoolwork demanded a field day working with a lawyer.” He shrugged as he shed his coat, carefully folding it over his arm and placing it atop the counter. His hat was carefully placed next to it. His movements were deliberate and slow, always calculated. He was always so careful about what he revealed, prying into others’ lives while locking his own away. It sent a wave of irritation down your spine.
“Are there no lawyers closer to home?” you asked, casting a glance at the door leading to the stairway. The last thing you wanted was for your unexpected visitor to awaken Mr. and Mrs. Haverford at this hour.
His expression remained the same, with the exception of his lips forming the faintest of curves. “London hosts the best of the best. Why should someone like me settle for mediocrity?” His tone was light, yet carried with an air of arrogance. His expression nailed you in your spot as he took a step closer. “Besides, it gave me the perfect excuse to check in on you. Kill two birds with one stone.”
You scoffed, a smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself. Despite your reluctance, despite the class divide and the years that had shifted you, you were still pleased to see him. The warmth between you still lingered, its stubborn embers refusing to die.
“Very well, then. Would you like some tea? I might have some leftover scones,” you offered, untying your apron with practiced ease. You folded it neatly and placed it next to his cloak on the counter.
The curve of his lips softened, his expression momentarily unguarded. His frame relaxed, melting in the warmth of the room. Still, beneath it all, in his gaze, there was something inscrutable. Something just out of reach, that told you he wasn’t being completely upfront.
“I really do wish you weren’t wasting away your life here,” Dio murmured, his voice soft as the lamp’s flickering glow. softly, His gaze remained lowered as he sipped the tea you had set before him, the delicate clink of porcelain breaking the stillness.
You paused, unsure of how to respond. The weight behind his words lingered above you, heavy and oppressive. Dio’s conviction that you were somehow beneath your potential, while flattering, grated you. He always had a way of making you feel like a child, speaking down on you like a wise teacher.
“I’m not wasting away, Dio,” you finally replied, your tone firmer than you had expected. You took a slow, deliberate bite of your scone, although the sweetness of it suddenly seemed so dull on your tongue. His gaze flickered to meet yours, catching your souring expression. He said nothing to combat your words.
“Not all of us,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “have the fortune of being swept up by a rich nobleman.” The air suddenly felt colder and you couldn’t help but reel at the harshness of your words. You hadn’t meant to cut so deep. He was a proud young man and you hated the idea of saying anything that might imply he had not earned his keep.
When you looked up, searching for a reaction - hurt or anger, you found none. His face was as unreadable as ever, a smooth mask hiding away what might have simmered underneath the surface. Only the gentle strum of his fingers betrayed his thoughts, each tap measured and careful.
“I’ve always aimed for greatness,” he said at last, his voice low with the barest hint of strain behind it. “And I’ve taken the necessary steps to make it happen. You, however…” he trailed off, motioning lazily to the dim, flour covered kitchen. His lips curved into a faint smirk, his words carrying the thinly veiled sting of disdain. “You settle for far less.”
The jab stung. You couldn’t deny it as your fingers tightened around your scone, crumbling the edges. You huffed a bitter laugh.
“Staying on the streets with no legitimate income would have been settling for less,” you responded, voice raising despite your efforts to keep it steady. You mirrored his gesture, motioning to the modest kitchen with barely masked frustration. “This is a step up for me. A damn good one at that.”
Dio’s smirk deepened, a flicker of amusement coming to life in his crimson gaze. He leaned back in his seat, the pose a display of ease, yet the tension between you two crackled like a whip.
“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” he asked, voice smooth as honey as his eyes narrowed. It was suffocating, the way he used his charm and tenderness to demean you. His gaze locked onto you, unrelenting and sharp, cutting through you with ease.
For a moment, silence fell upon the kitchen, the bitter burn of tears welling in your eyes. You bit the inside of your cheek before you could say something you’d regret. Dio always knew how to press your buttons, to worm his way under your skin like no one else. Tonight was no exception.
You rose to your feet in silence, gathering up your dishes with hands that trembled ever so slightly. Seething just below the surface, you forced your expression into a careful mask, determined to deny Dio the satisfaction of seeing how his words had affected you. The clink of the dishes against the counter was harsher than you had intended it to be, rippling through the heavy stillness
Your half-eaten scone sat abandoned, mocking you with its presence. Your appetite had long since withered under Dio’s barbed remarks. Leaning against the countertop and feeling its cool surface dig into your palms, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut as you sucked in a quiet breath to steady yourself. Your exhaustion tugged at you relentlessly like a whisper, the promise of a warm cot soothing the edges of your frayed nerves.
“I think we should call it a night,” you spoke softly, your voice strained and tight. You kept your back to him - unwilling, or perhaps unable to face the man whose mere presence was enough to unravel you. You needed to end this before you said something cruel, something you couldn’t take back.
For a moment, silence fell upon you, broken by the soft scrape of the chair dragging across the wooden floor. He rose, his movements smooth and quiet as a predator. You closed your eyes again, waiting to hear another harsh comment aimed to cut you down.
Instead, you were met by eerie silence. Before you could spin around to steal a glance at Dio, you felt it.
Warm breath ghosting along the nape of your neck, brushing against you skin like a whisper.
You froze, your breath caught in your throat.
The room was eerily silent for a few moments, the hairs on the back of your neck raising once more. Before you could turn around to steal a glimpse of him, you felt warm breath ghosting along your nape. The air between you shifted, the tense atmosphere mixing with something else that left the hairs on the back of your neck standing.
You could smell him - faint hints of cologne, a deep wooden scent mingling with the faintest hint of smoke and amber. It was invasive and intoxicating at the same time, washing over you like a deep fog that left you feeling so very lost.
Your chest tightened as you struggled to swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Your eyes opened as you struggled between the choices of turning around or remaining rooted in place.
The choice was made for you as Dio retreated, gently placing his cup down next to your discarded dishes with barely any noise at all. You felt so cold all of a sudden, your knees wobbling beneath you.
“Very well, (Name). See you around,” he spoke before turning on his heel and stalking out of the kitchen with a terrifying silence.
Once you heard the front door close behind him, you were finally allowed the chance to breathe once more.
Blood of Ambition - Chapter 4: A Step Above, A Step Apart
Dio Brando x Reader (AFAB reader)
<<First || <<Previous || Next>>
Dear (Name),
—
I promised I would write, and I am a man of my word. Though London boasts its so-called charms, I find much more solace in the vast and spacious halls of the Joestar Manor. For all its grandeur, London is so very filthy and cramped. The grime of the city has clung to every cobblestone and sullied far too many people. I do wonder how we ever endured it. I must commend you for your fortitude in persevering. Still, I do hope you are on guard. You and I know all too well what the people of London can be like.
—
It pleases me greatly that you find time to answer my letters. While I do enjoy the liberties and luxuries of the manor, it can get incredibly dull and your words offer a reprieve from the monotony of it all. I have taken to preparing for the next chapter of my education.While I have no doubts regarding my inevitable admittance, I must ensure that I have a headstart on the others. After all, it is not in my nature to settle for mediocrity. I suggest you adopt a similar mindset.
—
Dio had grown restless upon his return to the countryside. There was no joy to be found in revisiting his childhood. He was ashamed of the circumstances of which he had been born into and all too eager to erase those chapters from memory. That life had been barren of joy and luxury. His father had been a cruel drunkard and his mother was far too naive for her own good. He had fought tooth and nail for survival. Every meal was uncertain, and the warmth of a flame to ward off the cool night was not guaranteed.
And yet…
He should have felt repulsed by the physical reminders of his past, should have wanted to distance from them as much as possible. But he couldn’t. Ever since seeing you at the bakery, you had haunted his thoughts. It was as though he was trapped in a nightmare from which he could neither escape or awake from. You were a painful reminder of all he had endured.
But God, you were also a reminder of the few bright moments of his bleak life. Despite the filth and squalor you two had lived in, not a single moment of his current life could hold a candle to the reckless joy of carelessly weaving through crowds after a successful theft.
You had seemed so wary around him when you last met. Fidgeting and nervous, your gaze flickering to and from. It was nothing like the carefree days of bygone times. He had attempted to coax out the person you had once been and he could see flickers of your resilient soul, yet you had remained guarded. He couldn’t deny doing the same. There was a vast gap between you two now and years of distance had only widened it.
He should have simply had a meal with you and left it at that. However, he had been unable to stop the words from spilling from his lips – an offer to write. He left you little choice to choose your answer, knowing his insistence would hush your hesitance. The next few days had been a haze. He cared little about the doings of his adoptive brother, pausing his machinations momentarily. All he could think about was that damned bakery.
You were no refined nobility. While you had certainly cleaned up, you were not of his world anymore. He had risen above you in rank. The establishment you called home now was passable, but flour coated your hands and apron. The skin of your hands was calloused from years of labour and poverty.
He found himself studying his own hands on the ride home, searching for similarities. He had been scruffy when he had first arrived, albeit a little cleaned up. His fingers had been bony and his hands marred. Only under the direct, bright light of the sun, could he see the faintest little reminders of those times etched into his skin.
It took no more than a few days of restless introspection before he caved to the impulse and penned his first letter. The act itself came easy but awaiting a response was a different ordeal entirely. He had prided himself for his patience, yet now, he found himself growing antsy. Each day left him feeling on edge.
For a week, he fought to hide his anticipation, eyes flickering to the servants as they brought in the mail each morning. He loathed this newfound sentimentality within himself, so shamelessly tethered to the response of another. Finally, he was allowed relief when a letter was handed to him at breakfast one morning.
No muscle in his face twitched to betray his thoughts outwardly. He simply excused himself to his study, delicately closing the door behind himself before tearing open the letter with a hunger he had not known in years. Your response was modest and brief, the lettering shaky and lacking the refined elegance of his own.
But that mattered not. What mattered was that you had responded. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury to feel joy at the fact.
And so, your correspondence began. At first, Dio had assumed his interest would wane soon enough. You lacked the refinement of noble education, nor were you particularly well-read or worldly. You had little to offer in terms of cultured discourse or debate. By all logic, he should have tired of you well before he sent out the third letter.
However, inexplicably, he found himself drawn to the details of your life. Your humble anecdotes of little significance intrigued him in a manner he could not rationalise.
His own letters, of course, were well measured and careful. He had no interest in sharing the intricacies of his machinations or the darker corners of his ambition – much less in written correspondence. Instead, his words leaned towards the superficial and surface level, utilising a fine balance of charm and wit. He was skilled with his words and used just the right amount of flattery and persuasion to coax you to share more of yourself.
He wanted to know of your plans, how you spent the fleeting hours of your day and with whom. His curiosity surrounding you was illogical. There was no practical value to the information gained, and yet, he persisted.
Perhaps it was the contrast of your worlds. Your life was so simple and quaint in comparison to the grand schemes of his own. Perhaps the easy and honest way of your life held an alluring charm to it, offering his mind a reprieve. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, something he was unwilling to entertain. Whatever the reason, he was soon penning a letter every week or two.
A year had flown by in what felt like the blink of an eye. Your days were consumed with ceaseless demanding work and nights, while quieter, brought the pressure of crafting responses to Dio. He had turned out to be a surprisingly persistent correspondent, despite his initial detached demeanour.
You often feared that you were out of your depth. His words flowed elegantly across the page with dazzling vocabulary you could not even dream of emulating. Yet, despite the mundanity of your life, Dio seemed unwaveringly intrigued. His questions came with such insistence, paired with lovely words, that you couldn’t help but indulge him. You provided him with the meaningless details of your day-to-day life, often leaving you wondering if life in the countryside was truly so dull that the gossip of a baker’s assistant could hold so much appeal?
Of course, you didn’t mind. It was a comfort, being able to converse so easily with an old friend once more. The richness of the parchment and flourish of his cursive aside - there were moments where you felt as though you were children once more, giggling over the happenings of your days.
Yet there were times where Dio’s words left you with a sense of unease. Dio’s insistence to be notified of every happening of your life, while flattering, felt a little invasive, at times. His tendency to show others his disdain and speak down to them, while always part of his personality, carried a sharper edge now with his elevated status. There was a subtle condescension in his tone, as though his raise in status was only the natural progression of things.
He seemed particularly fixated on your “lack of ambition”, as he called it – a jab that hurt a little more than you would have cared to admit. As if ambition were a luxury you could afford. You had clawed your way up from being a beggar and a thief, going from risking your freedom just to get by, to having a secure roof above your head and a steady income. That alone, felt like a triumph. To speak as though there was something lacking in your achievements was only further proof of the gap between your lives that no amount of letters could bridge.
You were tidying up the bakery as a lull in new customers rolled in. In these slower moments you preferred to busy yourself to make the hours slip by quicker. Your gaze swept over the selection of treats, taking in the stock. You would have to make note of which pastries sold better and which adjustments would need to be made for the coming days to meet the demand.
The sharp chime of the bell above the door startled you, cutting through the serene silence and drawing your gaze to the entrance. Turning on your heel, you froze in place as you came face-to-face with a familiar figure.
A mop of perfectly groomed golden hair catching the sun gracefully, accompanied by sharply tailored clothing. Your breath hitched. Dio.
Your shock must have been evident as you scrambled to compose yourself under the weight of his steady gaze. A knowing, smug smile spread across his lips.
.
“Long time no see, (Name)m” he greeted, his voice richer and more mature than when you last met. It sent a shiver down your spine, making the rather spacious bakery seem like a cramped hallway around you. He commanded an air of elegance and superiority as he waltzed in, allowing the door to fall shut behind him with a thud that echoed through the building.
A breathless laugh stumbled past your lips as you took his visage in. He must have grown even taller and stronger in his absence.
“I wasn’t aware you’d be in town,” you spoke softly, wiping your hands into your apron nervously. His last letter had only just arrived - you hadn’t even had time to craft a worthy response yet.
“It was a last-minute decision. My father had business in London.” His crimson gaze swept across you calculatingly. “I thought I’d pay a dear friend a visit while I’m in the area.”
Dear friend. The words hung in the air heavily, making your chest heave with a swirl of emotions. Despite the slight unease you still felt, you couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through you.
He sauntered over slowly, catlike in his movements. His steps barely made any noise as his feet moved ever so gracefully.
“What have you been up to?” Dio asked, his tone casual, but his piercing eyes anything but.
“The same as always, Dio. Busy with work, running errands and such,” you managed to stammer out, voice steady but your nerves betraying you as your body tensed. You resisted the urge to step back, to recreate the distance between the two of you.
He hummed thoughtfully in response, eyes drifting lazily across the pastries on display with thinly veiled disinterest. “How about we go for a walk about town? The weather’s nice.”
You scoffed, giving him a pointed, exasperated look. “I’m working right now, Dio”
His brow twitched at your rejection, the only sign of displeasure on his otherwise composed face. “Is it just you here?”
“No, but Mrs.Haverford is-”
Before you could finish, he turned away from you and bellowed towards the kitchen, “Mrs. Haverford!”
His voice rang out, sharp and commanding, bouncing off walls of the bakery like a thunderclap. You shot him a horrified expression, only further stricken as his expression morphed into something undeniably mischievous.
“Dio!” you hissed through clenched teeth.
“Oh, don’t look so scandalised, (Name). I’m only helping you secure a break.”
You wanted to reply with a sharp retort, but the words died on your tongue as you heard hurried footsteps shuffling into the room. Mrs. Haverford looked flustered, brows furrowed in annoyance as she took in the sight of you two.
“What’s all this shouting about?” she demanded, her gaze bouncing from you to Dio. You could see the flour clinging to her hands - she must have been busy with preparing something before Dio oh so rudely demanded her attention.
Dio faced with a polite smile, turning his charm up. “My apologies, Mrs. Haverford. I meant no offence. I was simply hoping to borrow my friend (Name) for the day.”
Mrs. Haverford’s gaze softened as she studied the handsome, undeniably wealthy man. Her eyes flickered to meet yours and the barest hint of a teasing smile tugged at her lips.
“I see…very well, then! The rest of the day will likely be just as slow.” She dragged her attention back to Dio. “But stay out of trouble. And try to be back before dark, (Name).”
Your jaw tightened as you shot a glare at Dio, who was already moving towards the door, head held up high from his victory. With a quiet farewell to Mrs. Haverford, you ran after him, finding yourself by his side on the street.
“You’re insufferable!” you hissed, although you could barely keep yourself from smiling.
“And yet, you’re here,” he replied, smirking as he offered you his arm with exaggerated flourish. You could only sigh, finally allowing the corners of your lips to raise as you took his arm.
Dio navigated the streets with an ease that seemed almost choreographed. Each step seemed purposeful and calculated as he weaved past crowds. His towering frame, accompanied by his impeccable clothing commanded attention, crowds parting for him as though recognizing an unspoken authority. It struck you as unfair - how effortlessly privilege carved out a space for itself in the world at the inconvenience of others.
You clung to his side, curiosity burning at the forefront of your mind. Where on earth could he be taking you? Studying his expression gave you no hints, a knowing smirk resting on his lips as he glanced your way.
Soon enough, the scenery around you began to shift. The modest and practical buildings of the middle class began to fade out, making way for elegant town-houses with wrought-iron fences. The streets widened and the atmosphere shifted, an unfamiliar quiet ruling the area.
It was impossible not to feel out of place. Your modest, practical clothing felt much too dirty and shameful with a backdrop of such finery. Dio, however, made no note of the shift, guiding you along without a care in the world. This was his world now, after all.
He led you through the streets with ease. Crowds seemed far more eager to part for someone as tall and well-dressed as him. You supposed such were the privileges of the upper class. It was hard to quench your curiosity as you travelled through the streets, wondering where on earth he could be taking you. The modest middle-class buildings were slowly disappearing, making way for much grander and nicer ones.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” you finally asked, allowing your curiosity to take control. Dio sent you a wicked smirk as you rounded a corner. The buildings looked lavish - boutiques and specialty stores coming into view.
“Patience is a virtue, (Name).”
You huffed indignantly. “What kind of game is this?”
He hummed in thought, the smirk never leaving his lips. “It’s no game. We’re almost there.”
You finally came to a stop before a lovely pale building, its facade prim and inviting. Stained glass adorned a few of the windows, catching the light in soft, colourful hues. From a brief glance inside, you caught sight of impeccably dressed patrons seated at elegant tables, their muted laughter and chatter barely audible from where you stood.
Your gaze snapped to Dio, panic rising in your chest. “What is this place?” you asked, your voice faltering despite your best effort to sound composed. The slight tremble seemed to amuse him, his smirk deepening.
“A tearoom,” he replied casually, already beginning his ascent up the stairs leading to the entrance.
Your stomach dropped. “We’re not going in there, are we?” you asked, dread creeping into your voice. You couldn’t help but glance down at your plain attire, your insecurities roaring to life. The shame of your appearance burned brighter against the backdrop of such opulence.
Dio paused mid-step, turning slightly to regard you with a raised brow. “Of course we are,” he said, as if your question were absurd. “Do you think I brought you all this way to simply loiter outside?”
Panic bloomed in your chest as you looked down at your attire, feeling so very out of place in comparison to the elegant building and the wealthy clientele. “No, I can’t! I’m not-”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dio reassured you, although his words did little to calm your nerves. “You’re with me. If I say you’re welcome, you’re welcome here.” His tone was commanding, leaving you little room to reject the idea as his arm looped around yours once more. As he led you up the short flight of stairs, you could feel your chest tighten with worry.
“You’ll enjoy it. Don’t worry about it.”
You could only heave a shaky breath as you leaned into him ever so slightly. It earned a faint smile from the blonde as he pushed the doors open.
The interior was even lovelier than the exterior. Ornate wallpaper lined the walls and the ceiling stretched much higher than any you’d seen before. The room was spacious and beautiful, with decor you’d never seen this close before. Your gaze swept across the others seated at their tables and you felt your heart drop. Despite Dio’s reassurances, you would undeniably get looks from them. You were ready to turn on your heel and rush out, but Dio’s hand caught yours.
“Relax.” He led you towards a more secluded table. “You look like you’re about to face the gallows.” You shot him a distressed look which he simply shrugged off with a chuckle and pulled out a chair for you, allowing you to take a seat. Once making sure you were sitting and not about to bolt, he sat down as well.
“Why would you bring me here?” you hissed under your breath, glancing at the genteels seated at their tables. “To embarrass me?”
His brow twitched, offended by the notion.
“Nothing of the sort. I wanted you to get a taste of my life,” he spoke, tone surprisingly earnest. There was something darker in his gaze though, something calculating.
“Why?” you asked cautiously, trying to make sense of his motives. He sent you a charming smile, not bothering to give you an answer as he waved over a waiter. You had no choice but to chew on your lip nervously as you felt the waiter’s brief, questioning gaze on you. It was easy to tune out Dio’s conversation with him as you bore holes into the table with your eyes, cheeks burning up from shame. Your blonde companion must have noticed, making the decision to order on your behalf. Only when the waiter turned to leave, could you finally breathe a sigh of relief.
This was going to be a difficult outing.
Despite the plethora of odd looks you had received, your overall experience had been rather…pleasant. Your companion had spared no expenses, allowing you to experience a wide variety of new flavours. He’d given you an odd look once or twice, something you could put no name to. While he was quick to conjure up a charming smile and keep up pleasant conversation, his unassuming facade slipped here and there. As was customary in your written exchange, he had not been too forthcoming about his own happenings. Of course, he had shared plenty of anecdotes, but there was a layer of superficiality over them. Something that was never there in your childhood.
Your arm rested lightly in the crook of Dio’s as you walked back towards the bakery at a leisurely pace. His eyes shifted to you with a sideways glance, studying your expression curiously. His gaze was intense, almost as though trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts.
“You seem to be burdened with something,” he finally spoke, breaking your train of thought, tone casual but not probing. Your eyes shot up to meet his, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face.
“Ah, sorry about that.”
“Did you not enjoy the tearoom?” he pressed, gaze unwavering.
You blinked, taken aback by the question. “No, that’s not it. It was lovely,” you assured him, but your voice faltered as you thought back to the scrutinising gazes of the wealthy clientele.
“But?”
A nervous chuckle escaped you. “Well, I felt like an intruder.”
Dios lips tightened, his only response a noncommittal hum. His gaze travelled to the horizon, the silence between you tense with unspoken words.
“Do you not feel worthy of the finer things in life?” he asked abruptly, his tone more serious now. You could only swallow nervously, feeling the weight of his calculating stare settle in your chest.
“Well…it’s not that.” You struggled to find the right words, unease creeping back into your mind. “But I’m not stupid. The others were clearly unamused with my presence. I don’t exactly fit the bill of that crowd.”
Your words hung in the air. You find yourself wondering if he could understand.Once, you had both shared a similar life. But now? Now, he felt so far removed from that. Did he even remember those days?
Dio barked out a dry, humourless laugh.
“That should be of no concern to you,” he said dismissively. “When I first entered these spaces, I was met with the same disdain. Mr. Joestar was accommodating enough, but the others? They saw me as nothing more than a dirty orphan boy, despite the fine clothes I’d been given.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he recalled it. “I had to claw my way up to be seen as an equal. Even despite being a Lord’s ward, I was not spared their judgement..”
Your gaze softened as you looked at him, his steely expression betraying an old wound. You couldn’t help wondering how it had felt for him.
Had he been lonely? Afraid?
“In this world,” Dio continued, his voice hardening, “you can achieve anything you want. But you have to fight for it. Sometimes that means mastering their ridiculous games of etiquette. Other times, it requires more drastic measures.”
His eyes locked with yours, unyielding and commanding. “If you know you are worth something, you should never settle for less.”
His tone had lost any edge of casual playfulness, gaining an undercurrent of something dark that made your stomach turn. You felt almost as though he was staring into the very depths of your soul. There was something dangerous about his conviction.
Before you could respond or delve deeper, the moment shattered as a familiar voice called out your name, startling you both.
“(Name)!”
The familiar voice jolted you, and you looked up in surprise to see your regular, Charles, beaming at you. His hands were clasped around those of his two younger sisters, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. Your lips stretched out into a grin, instinctively slipping your arm away from Dio’s as you surged forward, feeling relief at the interruption.
“Charles! Running errands for your mother again?” you asked, tone bright as you tried to shake off the unease from your interrupted conversation.
“Yes,” he replied, nodding eagerly. A boyish grin swept across his features. “We’re just finishing up now. We stopped by the bakery for a treat and noticed you weren’t there. I didn’t realise you had the day off!”
A sheepish smile made its way onto your face, eyes flickering to Dio, who had remained a few steps behind.
“Not exactly. An old friend invited me out for a bit,” you explained, feeling a slight warmth rise to your cheeks.
Charles’ gaze followed yours, eyes widening slightly as they landed on Dio. The contrast between your modesty and Dio’s radiating elegance was staggering. Sensing the boy’s curiosity, Dio finally stepped forward, his every move deliberate as he came to stand beside you, his height and demeanour commanding attention.
“I wasn’t aware you had friends in such…high places,” Charles remarked, his voice hesitant as his eyes flitted between the two of you.
“You are now,” Dio responded in your stead, voice smooth and tone measured. That being said, you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders tensed as he spoke, as though trying to make himself bigger and more imposing.
The air grew heavy with an unspoken challenge as Charles met Dio’s unwavering gaze. The two men seemed to size each other up, and you felt caught in the middle of an invisible battle.
Clearing your throat, you broke the tension. “I should really be heading back to the bakery now. Would you accompany me, Dio?”
Dio’s sharp eyes snapped to yours, his expression softening into a polite smile as he offered you his arm once again. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Let’s be on our way.”
As you resumed your walk, arm in arm with Dio, the lighthearted moment with Charles and his sisters quickly faded. You couldn’t ignore the sense of unease pooling in the pit of your stomach, a dread that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud ready to break.
Blood of Ambition - Chapter 3: Where Paths Cross Once More
Dio Brando x Reader (AFAB reader)
<<First || <<Previous || Next>>
Days passed with few notable events since your chance encounter with Dio, yet your mind remained restless. Dio had changed considerably. Naturally, he’d grown over the years spent apart—that much was to be expected. His air of superiority, though unsettling, wasn’t entirely surprising either. He had always been ambitious, and given the life of luxury he now led, it made sense that he would carry himself with even greater pride.
Yet something about him felt… off. It could have easily been your mind playing tricks on you after all this time apart. Still, in brief moments, you caught glimpses of the boy you once held dear, small slivers of his old self peeking through.
With a frustrated sigh, you wiped your hands on your apron. It had been so long since you’d thought of him in this way, yet here you were, cursed once more by his absence. By mere accident, he had dipped his toes back into the depths of your mind, only to withdraw, more likely than not, never to return.
You banished thoughts of him to the depths of your mind once more as you prepared for another busy day. Rising before dawn, you had already been baking and cleaning for hours before the shop would open. At first, the routine had been a challenge to adjust to, but now you found comfort in the rhythm. The brisk pace of your days kept you engaged, and at night, you usually drifted off the moment your head touched the pillow.
“(Name)!”
Startled, you turned to see Mrs. Haverford poking her head into the kitchen. Recognizing your employer’s wife, you relaxed and offered a sheepish smile.
“Yes?” you asked, facing her fully.
In her hand was an envelope, and even from where you stood, you couldn’t help but notice the elegant, flowing cursive gracing its surface.
“There’s a letter for you, dear,” she said warmly, her eyes crinkling into a kind smile.
You were taken aback. No one had ever sent you a letter before. Anyone who wished to reach you could usually take the time to find you with ease. Blinking away your bewilderment, you stepped forward and accepted the envelope, brows knitted together in confusion.
The envelope was heavy, made of sturdy, cream toned parchment. Despite never having received a letter of your own, you knew this was no ordinary one. The sender had even sealed it with brilliant red wax. Running your fingers along the edges of the object, you could make out details that had been embossed into it.
This envelope was nothing ordinary. Had it been addressed to the wrong person?
Your suspicions faded as soon as you flipped it over to check the sender’s name.
It was addressed to you, without a doubt.
From Dio Brando.
You nearly dropped the envelope in shock, only just managing to catch it before it could fall to the flour-covered floor.
Dio had sent you a letter?
You couldn’t help but wonder if you were dreaming.
Palms sweaty, you cautiously opened the envelope, curiosity thrumming through your veins. The writing on the letter matched the elegance of the envelope, each stroke as refined as it was intricate. It was a level of formality and flair you weren’t accustomed to, and you found yourself squinting slightly, trying to decipher the words woven through the dizzying, graceful script.
Dear (Name),
I am writing to amend the brevity of our last encounter. It seems we were not afforded the chance to catch up as fully as I would have liked. As I shall still be in London for the next few days, I would welcome the opportunity to speak with you again before my return.
Please meet me at the address provided below, promptly at 7 p.m. this evening. You needn’t trouble yourself with a response; I will be waiting.
With warm regards,
Dio Brando
Your brows furrowed as you absorbed each meticulously crafted sentence, unsure what to make of it. Part of you bristled at the arrogance seeping through Dio’s words.
“You needn’t trouble yourself with a response; I will be waiting?”
You scrunched your nose. Quite presumptuous of him to assume you’d agree to meet. Still, there was no denying a part of you wanted to. You chewed your lip, deliberating.
The address listed was nothing grand—just a modest pub a short walk away. You were surprised he’d pick such an unassuming place, given the luxury he clearly embraced now. But after another moment, it began to make sense.
Of course he’d arrange to meet you somewhere simple, far from the haunts of nobility. He wouldn’t want anyone seeing him with you, after all.
You took a shaky breath, trying to banish the thought. Dio had changed, but was it fair to make such assumptions about him? Your encounter with him had been brief, yet there had been unmistakable glimpses of the boy you once knew peeking through this new, polished persona.
Perhaps, in that sense, Dio had been right to assume you would accept. Curiosity had always been a part of you, after all, and for all you knew, this might very well be the last time your paths would cross.
The crisp evening air caressed your cheeks gently as you made your way towards your destination. You’d done your best to tidy up, discarding your apron and kerchief, and dusting off as much flour from your woollen dress as possible. Before leaving, you’d thrown on a shawl for warmth, hoping to keep the chill at bay.
Your eyes drifted across the facade of the pub nervously. You could feel your heart stammering against your ribcage violently, threatening to break free from its confines. You chided yourself for the hesitance. Despite everything, you were only meeting an old friend.
With a shaky breath, you stepped inside, feeling your body relax as the warmth of the pub greeted you. The cosy interior was thick with mingling scents of food and drink. You scanned the room, almost ready to resign yourself to the idea that he’d played a prank, when you spotted him at last.
He was no longer donning the extravagant clothing you had last seen him in. This time, he had picked out something much more simple. He would have easily blended in with the crowd surrounding him were it not for his striking features. Your gaze was met by his and his lips curved into a subtle smile. Gathering your nerves and swallowing your apprehensions, you approached him.
The noise and scents that had briefly overwhelmed you blended into a quiet simmer in the background as you sat down at the table Dio had seated himself at. He’d picked out a more secluded area, nestled away in the corner furthest from prying eyes. It did little to ease your suspicions regarding your meeting.
“Good evening,” Dio spoke smoothly, his guarded smile never wavering. You returned it with a slight nod and a tight-lipped smile of your own.
“Evening, Dio.”
“Are you hungry? Order whatever you like—I’ll cover it,” he offered, his tone cool and detached, yet there was something almost childlike in the gesture. Was he trying to flaunt his wealth?
You bit back a retort, holding onto the faint comfort of familiarity in this strange, newfound distance between you both.
You were seated in tense silence as you hesitantly picked at your food. Dio had not said much since ordering your meals and you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to do so yourself. You could sense this was weighing down on Dio as well, picking up on the subtle shifts in his expressions.
“(Name),” he finally broke the suffocating silence, his voice losing some of the coldness it had held. Your gaze snapped up to meet his expectantly.
He seemed to be carefully weighing his words before he spoke again, his voice hushed. For a brief moment, you saw flickers of a temperamental child with whom you had shared your happiest memories.
Finally, he spoke, the crease between his brows deepening.
“Life’s been somewhat dull without your company.”
You fell silent, your undoubtedly wide eyes staring straight into his. Something simmered underneath the surface that you couldn’t quite discern. You forced yourself to look away, resisting the pull of his gaze.
“Somewhat dull…,” you finally replied with a hint of wistfulness in your tone as your fingers traced idle patterns into the top of the table. A tightness rose in your chest. His words should have lifted your spirits, yet here you were, reading into them far too deeply.
Somewhat.
Had Dio always spoken this way? Or were your memories of him tinted by a rosy hue?
You managed a strained smile.
“I suppose I could say the same, although now that I work at the bakery, I don’t mind the repetitive days so much.”
Something in Dio’s smile tightened, his eye twitching just slightly at your words.
“So…Mr. Joestar treats you well?” you asked, taking another bite and hoping to lighten the atmosphere by steering the conversation elsewhere.
He nodded, and just like that, a more relaxed expression settled on his features once more. “Better than my father ever did,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. His gaze shifted back to you, quietly assessing. You could still recall how he’d sometimes pause to observe people, studying every detail as if searching for hidden meaning. You never understood his fascination, though you’d always enjoyed hearing his theories on perfect strangers.
“That’s good. I’m happy for you, Dio.”
He tensed at your words again, though you couldn’t fathom why. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension.
“And his son? Jonathan, I think his name was? Do you two get along?”
His lips curled into a smirk for a fleeting moment, his expression darkening. “We didn’t always. But I’d like to consider us friends these days.” His tone carried an air of mystery, as if hiding something unsaid. As well as you had once been able to read him, you doubted you could still do it now.
You hummed noncommittally in response, unsure what to make of his response yet again.
“Are you content working for the baker?” he asked, gaze nailed on you.It was the first question he had posed all evening. You responded with a polite smile.
“Yes. He and his wife treat me well. It certainly beats stealing for a living,” you sighed, reminiscing on times you and Dio had done just that. “My wages are modest, but I have my own room, and I never go hungry.”
He fell silent once more, his eyes roving across your face curiously. It almost seemed as though he was looking for something—something that might contradict your words. Did he doubt your sincerity?
“What about friends? Do you have any?”
That stung a little.
You worked to keep your face neutral. “I don’t have much time for friends. I suppose I have a few regulars I could call that, though.”
Dio’s demeanour shifted. “Charles,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes.
You smiled, raising your brows in mild surprise. “Yes, he’s one of them. You have a good memory, Dio.”
“You knew that already, (Name).” His response drew a lighthearted chuckle from you.
“Do you have any plans for your future?” he questioned, his gaze locked on you, mesmerising, unsettling. He almost reminded you of a hunter stalking prey. There was something off about him.
You considered his words briefly. Did you?
“I’m quite happy where I am. There’s not much else out there for me. With any luck, I can keep working for Mr. Haverford as long as he’ll have me.”
“Hm.” Dio sounded unimpressed.
“What about you? I assume you have something much grander planned for yourself?” your words were coloured with a tinge of sharpness. If Dio noticed it, he concealed it well.
“I’ll be studying law soon. Both Jonathan and I are set to attend Hugh Hudson Academy.”
You smirked. “I suppose I could see you as a lawyer. You are rather conniving.” That earned an amused eye roll from Dio. “Will Jonathan be following in your footsteps?”
There it was again—a twitch of his hand, a crack in his composure.
“No. He plans to study archeology. I suppose he has no need for a real occupation, so he’s free to study something so…frivolous.” The bitterness in his tone was barely concealed, seeping through his words.
You lowered your eyes, focusing on your cooling meal. The distance between you and your old friend seemed greater than ever. You couldn’t put a name to the feeling that overwhelmed your senses.
Was it longing? Bitterness? You couldn’t make sense of it.
To your surprise, Dio offered to walk you home once you had finished your meals. Seeing no reason to protest, you had agreed. The walk was mostly silent, with only a few strained words exchanged between you.
“(Name),” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush against yours as you reached the bakery. Your eyes flickered up to meet his. He withdrew his hand quickly.
“I will write. When I get back home, that is,” he said, his voice bold but his expression stony. You raised an eyebrow.
“I trust you will respond?”
You chuckled dryly. “You want to keep in touch with me?”
His brows furrowed ever so slightly. “I believe that was what I implied, yes.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Very well, then. I will respond.”
He offered the barest hint of a smile, and, for a moment, you could see the friend you once knew. Perhaps he hadn’t changed as much as you thought.
“Goodnight, Dio,” you spoke softly, fishing out your key and heading for the door. You could feel his intense gaze on you as you fit the key into the lock. With a final glance over your shoulder, he gave a short wave and turned to walk away.
That sure was something.
As you clad yourself in your nightwear, your mind buzzed with the night’s events. You had him, but now that you had encountered him once more, you were feeling wary. Things between you felt strained, the warmth between you had cooled over the years. Still, the boy you had held dear was there, just, different.
And he had insisted on writing.
The frostiness surrounding him was unsettling, but the lonely child within you was eager to push that feeling aside.
Maybe it would be worth it.
Even with the undeniable differences in your standings, you found yourself longing to rekindle your bond. A part of you, the younger self that still wanted to understand him, stirred hopefully.
As you tucked yourself into bed, your thoughts raced until, eventually, you drifted into a restless sleep.
I feel odd writing specifically fem readers but for this specific storyline it made most sense so idk
cw: canon-typical violence, Dio still very much committing atrocities
<<Previous || Next>>
Dio’s life had taken a drastic turn. After a long journey in a carriage—the first time he had ever travelled in one—he arrived to a truly remarkable sight. The manor stood grand and sturdy, with intricate, towering windows that allowed light to flood in from every angle, capped with a glimmering deep-green roof. It didn’t seem real. He knew that the upper class enjoyed the finer things in life, but not a single townhouse or hovel from his old neighbourhood could compare to the Joestar estate.
He quickly steeled his expression. He had to play his cards right, and appearing as a wide-eyed street rat in awe of the Joestar fortune was not an option. With a deliberate, arrogant stride, he exited the carriage, eager to close the chapter of his life that had led him here—and tear it from his story entirely.
Dio was not fond of the Joestar brat. The boy stood in the way of his ambitions merely by existing. Born into wealth and privilege, yet awkward and unpolished, Jonathan was a paradox Dio despised. He, himself, had learned to harden his heart long ago, so he felt no qualms about unleashing his cruelty.
With startling ease, he found he could toy with the boy however he pleased, facing no consequences. It took only a few sweet words, a carefully crafted look, and the old man was won over. Dio relished how his own charm outshone Jonathan’s in every way, from speech to manner. The twisted pleasure he felt when Lord Joestar scolded his son for his lacklustre performance was something he had grown to nurture.
Of course, usurping Jonathan’s place as heir wouldn’t be so easy. Dio had to pull out every stop, and he did so with calculated precision. He humiliated the boy in front of his friends, slowly isolated him, and made every move with the skill of a seasoned chess master. He gathered a new flock of followers, more refined than those he’d manipulated in London, though they were still nothing more than sheep in his eyes.
But it wasn’t enough. His thirst for cruelty only grew, as did his hunger for control. He supposed his resilience and willingness to dirty his hands was the one gift from his father that he appreciated. To secure his place, he knew he had to break Jonathan completely. He had thought he’d succeeded in crushing the boy’s spirit by ridding him of that infernal dog, but Jonathan’s resilience surprised him. Now, he had somehow even acquired a female companion.
Dio hadn’t completely forgotten you—the one person he might’ve once dared to call a friend. Occasionally, his thoughts would drift away from his ambitions, back to the streets of London.
How were you doing?
There was little he could do to satisfy his curiosity; your world was days away, with not even an address to tether it to his own. He had been deliberate, ruthless in shedding the remnants of his past, moulding himself into something that could pass for nobility. Yet, some part of him was concerned. Were you still stealing? Begging for scraps? Had you been caught by the Yard without his guidance to shield you?
Then there was Erina, entering Jonathan’s life with her soft kindness, her eyes filled with that same warmth that you once showed him. A subtle jealousy mingled with resentment. He found himself wondering: what would you think if you saw him now, standing in the shadow of the Joestar fortune?
Dio felt nothing but distaste for the girl. She was from an acceptable family, dressed in fine silks, her hair neat and tidy. But her carefully sculpted gentleness couldn’t hold a candle to you—the fire and spirit that had shaped you, that fierce resilience he had admired. Erina’s pure, sheltered demeanour only highlighted her naivety, and it stung all the more for how easily her kindness lifted Jonathan’s spirits.
But Dio supposed he could remedy that. She was honourable and unguarded, an open book, and he knew it would be no challenge to drive her away from Jojo’s side. A single, stolen kiss would serve his purpose—a simple, calculated move, nothing more than a checkmate in a game he intended to win.
Yet the moment his lips forced against her soft ones, a rush of images seared through his mind: he could almost see you in her place, your eyes blazing with a mix of hatred and panic as you wiped your mouth furiously, disgusted by him. The thought sent a wave of anger through him, surprising him with its intensity.
Would you look at him with those same accusing eyes if you saw him now?
Though Jonathan’s burst of righteous fury had been an unexpected and humiliating blow, it ultimately sharpened Dio’s focus, allowing him to reconfigure his plans with greater subtlety. Jonathan was clearly stronger and more resolute than he’d first appeared, a fact that required more finesse from Dio’s scheming hand.
Suspicion lingered in Jonathan’s eyes, but over time, a tentative illusion of trust began to form between them. Jonathan, it seemed, had finally stepped onto the chessboard, stepping up to the rivalry Dio had initiated. And as the years passed, they grew into civil young men, appearing as brothers bound by fate and upbringing.
At least, that’s how it seemed to an outside observer. Dio had no qualms about slipping into the role of the perfect brother and dutiful son. It was almost effortless—another mask, another performance.
At seventeen, Dio returned to the bustling streets of London. Four years had passed since he’d left, yet everything still felt so familiar. Lord Joestar had errands in the city and had encouraged his “boys” to join him. Jonathan had accepted readily, and despite his own hesitation to revisit his roots, Dio had followed suit.
The streets they now strolled through were cleaner and finer than the ones he had known in his youth. After all, it wouldn’t do for two young noblemen to be caught lingering in the capital’s filthy slums. Dio walked leisurely behind Jonathan, his crimson gaze sweeping lazily over the surroundings. It felt strangely surreal to parade through the city clad in clothes tailored from the finest fabrics, his pockets now heavy with coin. He noted the stares of awe and curiosity from the common passersby, who easily recognized the wealth radiating from both their manner and attire.
Suddenly, Jonathan came to a halt. Dio frowned, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue as he followed his gaze. They stood before a modest bakery, unremarkable at first glance, yet the sweet aroma drifting through the air was undeniably enticing. But it wasn’t the pastries in the window that caught Dio’s attention—it was the young woman carefully arranging them.
You.
Your hair was no longer a tangled and dirty mess, now neatly tucked beneath the kerchief covering it. A dark brown woollen dress draped modestly over your figure, simple but clean. An apron shielded your clothing from flour as you gently arranged a new selection in the display. You looked healthier, no longer bearing the ashen, malnourished pallor of your past. Despite your plain attire, there was a glow about you.
Dio’s heart stalled, skipping a beat in surprise at the sight.
“How about we grab a couple pastries, Dio?” Jonathan asked, breaking the blonde out of his momentary trance. “It smells wonderful! I’m certain father would appreciate some too.”
Dio was ready to protest, but before he could even mutter out a single word, Jonathan was already heading towards the building. Ice flooded his veins as he followed suit cautiously.
Would you recognize him?
The bell above the door chimed, alerting you of new customers. Quickly, you brushed the flour from your hands onto your apron and hurried to the counter, a warm smile on your lips. You were momentarily taken aback by the tall young man before you, his frame towering over you. Despite his imposing size, his expression was gentle.
Your gaze swept over him, noting the fine quality of his attire. He was clearly wealthier than most of your usual customers. You offered him your brightest smile.
"Welcome, sir! How can I be of assistance?"
At the sound of the bell once more, your eyes shifted — and your breath caught. Another young man had entered, dressed just as finely, shorter than his companion by just a touch. His golden hair shimmered in the light, and his piercing crimson gaze held you, pinned in place.
A jolt shot through you at the uncanny sight before you. The young man differed so much from the feisty boy you had grown up with. Gone were the baggy rags, the days of swiping bread from bakers, or brawling with the other boys in the neighbourhood. Now, he looked polished, finely dressed, carrying himself with the poise of someone born to this life. Only his captivating eyes and those unmistakable birthmarks hinted at his past.
Your breath caught, your smile faltering for a moment before you tore your gaze from him, returning your attention to the man before you. The man gave you a warm smile, his gaze flickering over your selection with curiosity.
"I think I’d like to try an Eccles cake… perhaps a scone?" he glanced at you sheepishly. "What would you recommend?"
Your eyes flicked briefly to the blonde approaching the two of you. “I just baked a fresh batch of gingerbread, if you’re interested. Would you like to try one? I set a couple aside just for that.” You offered him your sweetest service smile. His eyes lit up with excitement.
“Yes! That would be wonderful, miss!”
You stifled a laugh and reached for the basket you’d stowed away behind the counter, its bite-sized treats nestled neatly inside. You held it out, your smile growing ever so slightly as the young man eagerly took one and bit into it.
“This is delicious, miss!” he said, turning to his companion with enthusiasm. “Come and try these, Dio!”
After a moment’s hesitation, Dio stepped closer. You could barely conceal your awe at what a refined man he had grown into.
Would he even recognize you now?
You hadn’t spoken in years, so you could hardly hold it against him. He had moved up in the world, and his days of associating with a lowly girl like you were far behind him. Still, though you hated to admit it, you had sometimes wished he’d at least tried to contact you in some form.
Reaching his hand into the basket, your eyes met. His cold expression of indifference shifted ever so slightly, hesitance in his lingering gaze. You could tell from the subtle twitch of his brow and flicker of his eyes: he did recognize you.
Dio bit into the gingerbread, his gaze never leaving you. There was something different about him since your shared childhood—something complex, almost sinister, simmered beneath the surface.
All he offered in reaction to the treat was a noncommittal hum. If this indifference was uncharacteristic of him, his companion didn’t seem to notice. Despite Dio’s magnetic pull, you forced yourself to focus on the other young man before you. He was much kinder than you’d expected of nobility, open and friendly in a way that surprised you. If your intuition was correct, this had to be none other than Lord Joestar’s heir.
“I almost forgot!” Jonathan exclaimed, turning to Dio after paying for his selection. “I need to send this letter for Father! Would you like to accompany me?”
Dio cast you a veiled glance.
“No. I’ll… stay here a moment longer. I think I’ll get a couple of treats for myself.” His voice was steady, but beneath the smooth indifference, conflicting emotions flickered in his gaze.
You stood in tense silence as Jonathan dashed out, leaving you alone with Dio. You swallowed thickly, sneaking a glance at him. His expression was unreadable now, a far cry from the boy whose thoughts you once understood with a single look.
“(Name),” his deep, commanding voice jolted you from your thoughts, and you jumped.
“Dio,” you replied evenly, keeping your tone as neutral as you could. Your younger self was screaming to rush forward, to sweep him into a tight embrace, but the older, wiser part of you held that urge firmly in check.
You studied him warily, noticing his gaze sweep over you with a detached, almost clinical interest.
“How did you end up… here?” he asked at last, his brows twitching ever so slightly. To most, the movement would have gone unnoticed, but you caught it, picking up on the faint curiosity behind his guarded demeanour.
“Here?” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter.
“Well,” he paused, observing you with a touch more interest, “you look… nicer than I recall.”
His words held a cutting edge, and while you might have taken offence were this anyone else, coming from Dio, they stung differently.
“Nicer? As in, not begging and stealing? Wearing clothes that actually fit?” you tried to keep your tone light, but you lacked Dio’s practised skill in hiding emotion. A trace of bitterness crept into your voice despite your efforts.
Dio’s lips curved into a faint smirk that never quite reached his eyes.
“Yes, that’s one way to put it.”
You couldn’t decide what hurt more: his words or the cold indifference behind them. You cast a desperate glance out the window, almost hoping for a customer to save you from the thick tension settling between you. No such luck.
Clearing your throat, you fidgeted with the broom, sweeping at the fine layer of flour on the floor just to occupy yourself. His intense gaze trailed your every movement.
“The baker here, Mr. Haverford, caught me stealing a few years back. I thought he’d turn me in on the spot, but…he offered me a job instead.” Despite yourself, a small, fond smile slipped onto your lips as you recalled that day.
You had been so terrified then, barely fifteen, clutching the stolen pastry in your trembling hands. Mr. Haverford had stood over you, his large hand resting heavily on your shoulder. Yet he hadn’t struck you, hadn’t dragged you to the authorities, hadn’t even raised his voice.
“I’ve lived and worked here since,” you murmured, sneaking a glance at Dio. For just a moment, you thought you caught a flicker of something in his expression: his brows lifting slightly, his lips parting as though to speak. But the moment was fleeting, leaving you wondering if you’d seen it at all.
Taking a hesitant breath, you forced a faint smirk onto your face.
“You look well too, Dio. I trust you’ve been doing all right?” Your voice was soft, but a hint of teasing laced your words. You felt breathless, waiting for his reply.
This time, there was no mistaking it. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.
“I suppose I have. The Joestars have been…kind to me.”
Despite the seemingly gracious words, a familiar unease stirred within you. It felt as though there was something he wasn’t saying, a part of him hidden beneath the surface. But after four years apart, the connection you’d once shared had faded, leaving fragments of familiarity in its place.
“Who was that young man with you?” you asked, catching your lip between your teeth.
Dio’s hands tightened at your question. He’d noticed the easy way you and Jonathan had conversed, and it unsettled him.
“Jonathan. Lord Joestar’s son. His son by birth, that is.” His voice chilled, his eyes narrowing as he studied you.
"Ah." You nodded, finally setting the broom aside as another tense silence settled between you.
Had you offended him?
Your gaze darted around the room, and you lit up with relief as the bell above the door chimed again. Your expression softened, melting into familiarity as a regular stepped inside.
“Hello, Charles! What’ll it be today?” you asked, flashing him a genuine, easy smile. For a moment, you could almost forget Dio’s stifling presence behind you.
But Dio’s demeanour only grew frostier. The young man who had entered looked about your age, plain in every conceivable way, though not poorly off. And yet, you smiled at him with a fondness Dio remembered all too well, one that had once been his.
"Some apple tart, please! It’s my mother’s favourite," Charles replied cheerily, paying Dio no mind, his gaze fixed solely on you.
A laugh bubbled out of you, light and genuine—a giggle.
“You’re in luck! Mr. Haverford took the day off, so all of today’s treats were baked by yours truly.” You flashed a toothy grin at Charles, whose face lit up with excitement.
Dio’s eye twitched as he watched the fool’s eagerness grow, the blush of his cheeks and ears a tell-tale sign.
“Fantastic news! I can always tell when it’s you behind the baking.” Charles leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t let Mr. Haverford hear, but yours are better!”
You giggled, a warm pink hue spreading across your face as you rolled your eyes. “I’m not giving you a discount for flattery, you know!”
Dio tuned out the rest, his gaze flicking between you and Charles, his hardened expression barely concealing the simmering irritation. Had you truly replaced him with some common, insipid fool?
By the time Charles finally left, Dio had stewed long enough. Thoughts churned and frustrations swelled within him with every shared laugh or casual glance between you and that nobody. Yet he forced himself to keep his composure.
“Who was that?” he asked, cocking a brow at you, his voice smooth but lacking its usual restraint. There was a crack in his perfect mask, just the slightest slip that told you he wasn’t as detached as he appeared.
“Charles is a regular,” you explained, your smile fading slightly as you watched him exit. “He often gets treats for his siblings or mother.”
Dio’s brow twitched, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “He likes you, you know.”
You stammered, wide-eyed, heat rising to your cheeks. That earned a chuckle from Dio, a real, genuine sound you hadn’t heard from him in years.
“That’s—Dio!” You struggled for a response, attempting to glare at him through your embarrassment.
This felt strangely familiar, almost nostalgic.
Dio merely shrugged, his smirk widening. “I can read people like him easily.”
You frowned, unsettled by his choice of words. People like him? You felt the urge to snap at his snobbish tone but managed to bite back the impulse. “Whatever, Dio. Even if he did, it’s hardly any of your business.”
There it was again—something swirling beneath that composed exterior of his.
Before the tension could mount any further, Dio’s tall companion, Jonathan, re-entered, gaze flickering between the two of you. He seemed to sense the charged atmosphere lingering in the room, his expression softening as he turned to Dio.
“Let’s go. Father’s expecting us for dinner.”
Dio narrowed his eyes slightly, but he gave no argument, stepping toward the door. Jonathan cast you a quick, concerned look before the two disappeared through the exit, leaving you with only the quiet echo of their departure.
You assumed that this chance encounter would be nothing more than that.
But it appeared as though fate held other plans for you.
I have NOT played genshin since starting the fontaine quest I thinkkkk??? I graduated vocational school and then went abroad for a couple months over the summer and now I'm sort of settling down again!
I want to get back into Genshin so I feel like capable of writing for it eventually again but as I was last playing it I was having a lot of issues with the writing of the main story (not to even speak on the character diversity)
I could make like a whole long post about my issues with the game but ANYWAY I still like it and have a soft spot for it, I just need to get back into it eventually! Right now I'm pretty into JJK and JJBA and I've been doing art stuff a lot
Chapter 1 - Ashes of Innocence
Chapter 2 - Reflections in Ash
Chapter 3 - Where Paths Cross Once More
Chapter 4 - A Step Above, A Step Apart
Chapter 5 - In The Dim Light
Chapter 6 - Lurking In The Dark
Chapter 7 - Veil Of Ignorance
Dio Brando x Reader
(Reader is implied to be female)
cw: canon typical violence, the story is going to eventually become kind of dark? Dio is a bit softer cus...i said so !
Next>>
Victorious laughter echoed throughout the busy grimy streets of London as the two of you, barely seven or eight, broke into a run. The boy, just a few inches taller than you, led the way, clutching a loaf of bread tightly to his chest as he willed his bony legs to carry him as fast as they could. You weren’t far behind, grinning as laughter bubbled from your lips.
It didn’t take long for your pursuer—a baker, from whom you’d snatched the loaf—to give up the chase. Chasing a couple of thieving brats over a single loaf didn’t seem worth the time or energy, especially for his aging body.
The two of you ducked into a secluded alleyway, your laughter slowly dying down. Your feet skidded across the ground as you rounded the corner, barely catching yourself before you could fall. Chests heaving from excretion, the two of you stared
“We did it!” you exclaimed, eyes dropping to the loaf in your golden-haired friend’s arms.
The boy puffed his chest out smugly, eyeing you with a grin.
“Well, more like I, Dio, did it!” he proclaimed, giving you a look that dared you to disagree.
You simply laughed, used to his antics.
“Yes, you, Dio, did it!” you corrected with a lingering smile on your chapped lips. He nodded, preening with pride at your acknowledgment of his achievement. You knew better than to rain on his parade by reminding him it was you who had distracted the baker long enough for him to grab the loot.
You held out your grimy hand expectantly, meeting his gaze. His crimson eyes were rare—no one else you knew possessed such eyes. People had called him cruel names because of them, yet he still held his head high. You’d always thought they were rather pretty.
With an exasperated sigh, the blonde broke off a chunk of bread and shoved it into your awaiting hand. You flashed him a toothy grin before biting into it ravenously, the hunger gnawing at you urging you on—it had been days since your last proper meal.
Dio watched you for a moment, something akin to fondness flickering on his face, before he began eating himself. The bread wasn’t much, but neither of you were in a position to complain. After devouring your share in moments, you eyed the rest of the loaf. It called to you, your stomach still aching, but you quickly averted your gaze and forced a smile as you watched Dio eat. He had a mother to feed. You could make do with what you had. Such was the life for your kind.
“How is your mother doing?” you asked, leaning back against the cool stone wall of the alley. Tugging nervously at the frayed edges of your oversized shirt, you felt its rough, patched fabric hanging loosely on your malnourished frame—a far cry from what proper ladies of your age would wear, but you took what you could get.
Dio’s expression darkened at the question, and he cast his gaze aside, brows knitting in frustration.
“She’s getting worse, but she refuses to do anything about it. And on top of that, she’s foolish enough to give away what little we do have to others!” Anger radiated off him as he stamped his foot, distress evident in his movements. A sense of dread twisted in your stomach. You were well aware of Dio’s home life; his mother, kind to a fault, and his father, who seemed the lowest of the low.
Gently, you reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we could try to get some medicine for her?” you offered, knowing it was a shallow comfort. Dio was clever enough to have already considered most options himself.
“I’ve tried. Nothing seems to help. And Father… he’s never there when we need him.” Dio trailed off, cheeks flushing with anger. You sighed softly and looped your arms around him in a gentle hug.
After a brief pause, Dio reciprocated, his touch barely grazing you as he returned the embrace.
Life on the streets was tough. You knew many who hadn’t survived the grimy, poverty-ridden atmosphere. You were one of the unlucky runts, with no home to call your own and no family to return to—a vagrant, searching for shelter wherever you could. This life had made you resilient and quick on your feet. You had no qualms about stealing to stave off hunger or sneaking into any place you could to catch a quick nap under a roof.
Dio was your first and only friend, though it took a long time before you could even call him that. Like so many others, his father was a violent drunk with no regard or care for his own kin. You rarely visited Dio’s home, but the few times you had and witnessed his father left you trembling. Men like him terrified you; you had seen and heard their violence enough in your short life to know to keep your distance.
His mother, however, was the opposite in every way. From the little nuggets of information Dio shared, you knew she had once been of noble descent, having willingly married his father, a poor commoner. You’d never understand what she had seen in him. But that, as Dio put it, was her flaw—she saw good in everyone, even in those who possessed none.
Dio’s fists were clenched, his hands gripping the tattered wool of his coat as he wrapped his arms around himself, finding hollow comfort in his time of agony. Deep down, he had expected this—had known for some time that it was coming—but that did nothing to ease the weight in his chest as he watched his mother being lowered into the ground. It was a pauper’s funeral, without fanfare or many in attendance. Despite all the good she had done, all she had sacrificed for this undeserving community, no one had cared enough to bid her a final farewell.
Tears of anger welled in his eyes as he glanced at his father, who staggered nearby, reeking of drink. It was a vile display of disrespect—to show up to your own wife’s funeral drunk out of your mind.
He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t fair. For all his grievances with his mother, she was still all he had. His father was a cruel, disgusting animal by comparison. Oh, how he wished it was him being buried instead.
His lips trembled as he looked over his shoulder, catching sight of you standing further back, shivering in the autumn wind. Your hair was disheveled, and the rags you’d bundled yourself in provided little warmth. Yet Dio felt no disdain for your appearance. Your eyes glistened with tears, staring at the grave with a sadness deeper than he could express. You hadn’t even known his mother all that well, and still, you managed to show her more respect than her own husband.
It made Dio want to laugh.
You crept toward Dio nervously, glancing around like a frightened animal. His father was out, Dio had assured you, but you still felt uneasy about entering his home. Even so, your concern for your friend and the tempting warmth of the hovel won you over.
“What did he do?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The dark swirls of black and blue were beginning to bloom around Dio’s swollen eye. In the years since his mother’s passing, his father had started directing his rage toward Dio instead. It made your heart ache, knowing there was little you could do to stop it.
His lips curled into a snarl, teeth bared in anger—a look that unsettled you. Still, you stepped closer, your gentle hand brushing against his bruised face.
“The bastard sold Mother’s dress! And what for? So he could get drunk again!” he spat, swatting your hand away in frustration. You flinched instinctively, lowering your gaze. You weren’t afraid of Dio—never would be. He had every right to feel this way. A quiet, cold anger brewed within you, too, at the thought. His father truly was the lowest of the low.
Dio’s expression softened as he noticed your reaction. His shoulders slumped as he ran a bruised hand through his hair.
“I hate him, (Name),” he said quietly, his voice softer now, though no less filled with distaste.
You met his gaze. Despite being only thirteen, his face held the weight of someone far older. You sighed softly.
“I know, Dio,” you murmured, taking his hand in yours. His knuckles were raw with cuts and scrapes, the freshest likely from his latest fight with his father. He jolted slightly at the coldness of your touch, yet he couldn’t help but feel a bit more at ease.
“Let’s get your cuts cleaned up, alright?” you said softly, offering him a weak smile. You wished, more than anything, that you could do more—heal the wounds on his soul, not just his skin. But you were powerless. All you could give your only friend was a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on.
Dio nodded, watching as you moved around his miserable dwelling. You fetched some water and a rag, carefully beginning to clean his injuries. They were minor scrapes, nothing to fuss over, but a selfish part of him enjoyed watching you tend to him all the same. You were the only true comfort he had. There were others, sure—boys from families like his own—but they were weaker-minded, useful only as assets. He would fight, steal, and threaten with them in tow, using his cunning and charm to get them to follow his lead. He enjoyed the power he held over them, a taste of control he never had at home.
But you? You were different somehow. His oldest companion, a fixture in his life for as long as he could remember. Perhaps that was why he felt at ease around you. You had never seen him as a leader, just as Dio.
Despite everything, you managed to be both witty and kind, a combination he both admired and despised. You were often disheveled, more dirt than skin, dressed in ill-fitting, patched-together men’s clothes. You weren’t elegant by any stretch, and even by the standards of the streets, you looked pitiful.
And yet, he couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever you shared these fleeting moments together.
Despite your connection, however, you would not be able to quell the darkness growing within him. It had been set in motion long ago. Still, he mused, perhaps after his father croaked, he could open up your home to you.
The news had shocked you: Dario Brando was dead. A swift illness had taken Dio’s father to an early grave. It wasn’t uncommon for people to pass suddenly around here, but despite all the drinking, he’d seemed relatively healthy. Still, you felt no sadness for him. Dario had made Dio’s life—and his late mother’s—a living misery. Instead, you grieved for Dio, who’d now lost the last of his family. No matter how much he despised his father, losing the only other person connected to him by blood couldn’t be easy.
But it was Dio’s revelation after the funeral that truly shook you to your core. Just the two of you stood in the graveyard, with the setting sun casting shadows on the weathered gravestones. You searched his face for any hint of emotion, but his gaze was cold, hardened—yet in those intense eyes, you saw something brewing, dangerous and beautiful.
“I’m moving away,” he said, voice low as he stared down at the grave. The words felt foreign, as though from someone else entirely.
You balked, taken aback by the suddenness of it all. “Oh,” you whispered, pulling your shabby coat tighter as a breeze ruffled your hair. “Where to?” You looked up at him, feeling a deep ache at the thought of losing your only friend.
“Liverpool. The countryside,” he answered coolly. “The Joestar family. Some snobby nobles, but as it turns out, Lord Joestar owed my father a favor.” With a sneer, he spat at the grave. “The only good thing to come from that bastard.”
You were silent, struggling to form a response. Dio turned to look at you, only to find your wide, tear-filled eyes gazing up at him. For a moment, he felt gutted. This was what he wanted—no, what he needed. He’d cut ties with his father, carved a path to something better, a chance to claim the life he felt he deserved. His plan was set, his ambition unwavering. He would gain the Joestar fortune, no matter the cost.
But looking at you—lost and vulnerable—he felt a nagging hesitation. A part of him, as irritating as it was, didn’t want to leave you behind.
You swallowed, forcing a smile onto your face. “That’s… wonderful, Dio!” you finally managed, voice strained. “I’m so happy for you!” And you meant it. Dio had suffered more than most, and if anyone deserved a chance at happiness, it was him. But as you congratulated him, your heart broke, knowing that for the first time in years, you’d be truly alone.
And though Dio hardened his heart, telling himself it was necessary, the faint trace of guilt lingered as he walked away.
it poassed quite a lot time since i made that but,,,once i read the SAGAU with Kazuha and made a small comic about it. I justb wnated to let you know, i guess you never got the chance to see it soooo....
https://www.tumblr.com/mehiwilldoitlater/683426557811900416/im-not-sorry-dewdrop-writes-inspired-me-with?source=share
OHHHH MY GODDDDD that's amazing!!!! I love your art style so so much and it's so awesome you felt inspired by me!!! Love it so much!!!!
Everyone give this amazing person a follow and check them a follow!
