your dio fic was SO good i love the drama and see future potential for an angsty reunion? would LOVE that
Hi!!!
Thank you so much for your ask I love that you enjoyed it! Overall its my only really completed piece and im very proud of it haha.
At one point I did plan to make a follow up, and I actually have about... meh.. maybe 10k words written of a story? But I have a recurring issue where I start something and then never get around to completing it because I lose interest/motivation etc. I also created these ocs to go along with a continuation and I ended up liking one of the ocs so much I started writing ANOTHER dio fic but with her as the inserted "reader" character but again, haven't posted lol.
As for the mood... its funny bc what I have written isny particularly angsty (at least in my eyes I guess? Idk I tag something as fluff and then get comments that it is NOT fluffy lol) but takes a way more humorous tone as Dio is confronted with the fact that there are way more powerful, way older vampires than him. Definitely ripped a lot of the lore from Anne Rice bc I was reading The Vampire Lestat and whew. Some good tidbits in here about vampire lore and such.
I do have another Dio fic that is a modern AU, with the reader being a sex worker and having a kind of tumultuous relationship with Dio that I kinda wanna return to. I have chapter 2 almost complete soooooo yeah. That story is posted to my ao3
Idk my motivation for writing has been sooooo low the last month simply bc I haven't had much time. I do have a lot of WIPs i would like to post here less seriously but honestly it feels a bit uhh. Idk it makes me feel vulnerable to post my writing here and then just get crickets. Most of my "muse" comes from back and forth of talking with another person sooo idk. Its very hard for me to get the motivation to complete something if it feels like im throwing it into the void.
I am actively working on a Trevor Philips fic bc im a professional Nasty Man(tm) but... i miss dio. I do really miss him and sometimes I feel like he takes over my body and I end up with 3k words of an entirely different fic premise.
I dont know im all over the place. Im also like down back for a few marvel characters again (old habits die hard) but not to the point where I wanna write anything. But fuck it might throw out a Loki fic bc im supremely, down bad.
On that note tho, my requests are open so if there is something in particular you would like to see well... lmk 💖
Cannibalism as a form of love, you let yourself be consumed by your betrothed. Does surrender always taste this bittersweet?
Phantom Blood!Dio x Betrothed!Reader
final chapter: good / future games
You awake with a start to another unfamiliar ceiling and for a hopeful moment you wonder if you had ended up in a hospital, and it is only when you hear the familiar drawl of your fiancé that you are plunged back into the cold reality that you woke in.
“ Ah , you are finally awake. Don’t pretend to be asleep, I can hear your heart racing from here.” Shirtless and glowing like an apparition, Dio stands before you basking in your venomous gaze as you lifted yourself to sit up from the large, crimson bed. He keenly picks up that your eyes flicker down to his adonis belt, and for a moment your chest beats irregularly and the air tastes sweeter before the intimate scent of your fear floods his intuitive nose. The blond had momentarily forgotten that while it was widely encouraged for young men to indulge in their devilish appetites, worthy socialites such as yourself had been largely sheltered from the opposite sex. You were blossoming at the mere sight of skin, and he could tell from your guilty expression that sinful thoughts had already begun to tug at you. Put plainly, Dio had buried himself many times in the thighs of prostitutes, but that thrill paled in comparison to finally claiming the maidenhead he vied so long for.
As you push yourself up, you notice you are still dressed in the crimson velvet gown, however the stains that you had accumulated from your roll in the dirt had now vanished, along with any smudge that hid underneath your fingernails. Hesitantly you glance over to him, feeling something coil deep in your belly dangerously akin to desire . You had always admired your betrothed, his romantic and handsome appearance and even while thrust into the plot of a penny dreadful, you could not deny the pull of many years of pining still had on you.
“Tell me something that only he would know.” The question leaves you before you can really stop it, reverberating off the heavy curtains and the grandiose decor. Everything, from the sheets to the wallpaper, sang with Dio’s touch as he always had an affinity for grandeur.
Dio releases a soft chuckle, joining you on the bed by seating himself on the edge. In an attempt to be brave, you do not recoil but remain rooted to the center of the white pillows, feeling the familiar prickle of terror shiver up and down your spine. Unperturbed, he rests his cold, large hand over your small, hot one and leans back on his free hand. “My mother’s name was Elizabeth.”
Without wasting a beat, you reply, “That is an easy one, any devil who is truly good at deceit would know that.”
Again, Dio smirks and it is painfully nostalgic. For a moment you remember it, his grin flashing as you walked together careful to not touch by the riverside just a few short months prior. Something deep tugs at you, and tears begin to tickle your eyelids.
The large, beautiful man begins to lightly tap his pinky against your still appendage, leaning back to look at you once more. “ Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out to the edge of doom . I wrote that to you, in my letter dated September 27th. The first one I wrote when I returned to my studies.” Before he had even finished, you had recognized the sonnet from the letter that you had most coveted.
“Sonnet 116.” You whisper under your breath, your unseeing eyes dropping to your joined hands as you feel the cold sweat gather in your limp palm. The moment you had received this letter, back then, you had been flushed with desire from head to toe, the line reminiscent of to have and to hold, in sickness and in health , the same vow that you had longed to give him.
“Correct. It would seem I have pushed you to the brink of doom, and you waver in your dedication. I am beginning to doubt the seriousness of when you pledged yourself to me.” He watched your expression waver again, grasping your damp hand on his own as he guided it closer to his clothed thigh. “Is this not the same hand that held you on the day of your father’s funeral? The one that penned you letters of affection, and bended to your girlish whims? I scoured your journals, your notes and have educated myself on all your intimate desires… and you reject me at every turn.”
For a moment the fervor of passion that licks his features switches to a shade of obsessive rage, leaning his tall, radiating form so you are shaded by his shadow in the flickering candlelight, “I could bring the heavens down for you to touch, and it would never be enough for you.”
At this point your noses are close enough to touch, and you are slowly becoming drunk on his madness, his passion that seemed to envelop you in, tunneling deep to your marrow and liquifying any confidence you had previously mustered. Again, your mouth moves before your mind can stop it, “It is the same hand that killed my driver, Albert.”
As if struck, Dio’s expression disappeared instantly before letting out loud, rancorous laughter. “Yes, you mean the one that struck me with the shovel, correct?”
Cautiously you respond, your fingers unknowingly digging into the meat of his inner thigh, “Yes.”
A soft groan leaves his mouth as his blond lashes flutter close, and his pink tongue briefly flicks between his parted lips. For the smallest moment his pale hand crushes your fingers, before he guides it to the bare, defined planes of his chest. At the touch of his cool skin, you feel your whole body begin to quiver with horror, and something… something else you did not want to name.
“Yes, yes, I suppose I did do that as well. If I told you that he had been vying for a moment alone with you, would that change your opinion?” He looks at you expectantly, and all you can return is a blank look before you realize he was genuinely asking. You shake your head no.
Dio remains quiet for a moment with his head facing the curtained windows, deep in thought as his thumb brushes slowly circles the hand that he clasped to his bare chest. “I think I enjoy your fear more, it makes you more…” At this he turns again to face you, his intention plain as day, “--- appetizing .”
There was no chance you could dodge him as he pounced, pulling your hand close to him as Dio pressed himself into you, almost suffocating you with the cold flesh of his defined chest. The man lingers at your head, his hands buried in your loose curls as he inhales deeply and looks down at your shocked face, “I smell your desire for me, so do not deny yourself. Submit to your fate, my pet.” He purrs this in your ear, and for a breath you can feel desire, lust , completely foreign to you begin to blossom between the apex of your thighs.
His alluring body shifts down, crimson eyes coming to meet your own and ultimately you are close enough to taste him through your slightly parted lips. Without giving it second thought, he leans down to meet your lips with his own and instinctively your eyes flutter shut.
Every magazine, every book could not prepare you for the passion, the thick yearning that came with Dio’s touch. While you had been chastely kissed before, this felt so intimate, so new you struggled to retain your breath. Dio guided your lips with his, flicking his soft pink tongue along your inexperienced mouth before it delved in feasting and pulling the very oxygen you struggled to hold on to. Lightheaded, your head slightly sways when he rips apart from you and even in the dimly lit room you see the shine of saliva that still connects you two. It felt terrible, wonderful… fresh, and erotic as your flushed chest rapidly rose trying to regain your breath. Faintly, you feel something dribble down your chin and your hand wipes it away, seeing the shock of red color your trembling digits. Dio had cut your lip, most certainly nicked by his lengthened incisor.
When you look up to meet his eyes once more, no longer can you see crimson shine back at you, but rather his eyes shone like dark coals in the shrouded room, completely consumed by his pupil and heady desire. Again, there is no time for you to react before he is on you, sucking the weeping wound at your lip as they only grew more swollen and wet with his ministrations. Your jaw is pried open by his tongue, and you feel as if he is trying to devour you from the inside out, tasting, licking, biting every bit of flesh exposed. Your captor, your tormentor, your personal devil now satisfied with your mouth licked his strong tongue upward, kissing and nipping at the corner of your eye now flecked with panicked tears before he dove to the meat of your neck. Pain blossomed deep in the muscle, as you felt his teeth sink below your flesh and straight to a main artery.
It burns at first, before you feel yourself shrouded in delirious calm, as if you had been suddenly submerged in honey and begin to drown in its saccharine embrace. Your panic breathing slows, and no longer you feel tears roll down your flushed cheeks. Your hands languidly rest on his shoulders, caught between pushing Dio away or pulling him closer. Through lidded eyes you watch your lover’s muscles flex and shift under his luminous skin as he continues to feed, before he pulls back and lets his head fall back and arms splay in pure ecstasy. A deep moan leaves the blond as his own chest rises up and down with his panting, before once again he looks back down at you with pupils blown wide, “You will undo me like no other.”
When Dio kisses you again, you are pliable, open and willing to his attention as he devours your mouth. There are moments, quicker than lightning, where he treats you gently and in this small time you imagine behind closed lids that this is the same Dio that held you with his burning hands, and had written you so sweetly. Between bites, he kisses deeply, between rough pawing squeezes to your waist he trails his fingers delicate along your neck. You cannot help but be consumed, as death certainly awaited you and the small voice inside you begged to live deliciously.
Temptation was so easy to indulge in, especially when it wore the face of your deepest, private fantasies.
While your fiancé worked his tongue against your own, his hand grasped yours and guided it along his chest, before dipping further down and brushing his toned stomach. You feel his abs shudder against the light touch, and taste his desire as he pushes deeper into your kiss. Blind with lust, it takes a moment to recognize that he had placed your palm on his manhood. A shocked gasp tears through you and you turn your mouth away from him and pull your hand away as if burned. Dio hovers over you for a moment, his expression unreadable before nuzzling his nose along the unblemished side of your neck.
“I understand your apprehension, my pet. It is quite large.” Something tightens in your belly as you turn your head back, feeling a hot flush radiate from your core and trickle down to your toes. “No worries, I shall prepare you thoroughly. It will be my wedding gift to you, as after this night we shall enter eternal life as husband and wife.”
Before you can question his odd response Dio is ripping the red covers off of you, completely exposing the body of your gown to him before he lifts the front of the heavy skirt and slide his knee right between your exposed thighs. In your panic, you had not been given the chance to realize that Mary had not dressed you in your undergarments or small clothes, and under this opulent gown you were entirely exposed.
What you had meant as a yelp had come out a keening whine, feeling the cloth of his slacks press against your exposed sex. Gently kneeing you, he watched your timid gasps turn to panting moans and felt his pants grow wet with your arousal. Dio could taste it just from the air, and only felt himself grow larger with desire as your hands began to desperately clutch to his flexed arms.
This feeling, this well of ardor that poured from you was unlike anything else you experienced before. Letting out a low whine, you find yourself panting and rutting against his leg desperately chasing something as he rocked against you. It felt like a wire was being wound in your very sex, building and winding leading to something entirely unknown to you.
Dio watched you squirm underneath him, the pinnacle of his obsessive desire unraveling just from his light touch. He felt consumed by you, the object of his tepid affection that had followed him into ascension, this very human desire that remained after everything had been burned away. He wanted to fuck you, to enter you and shape your body to his, to ruin and descerate and burn this need that licked at his loins every lonely hour before dawn. Dio wanted to consume you completely, body and soul, and bury his desire, his infatuation, deep in his chest for only him to own.
Pulling his knee away, you whine from the loss of sensation and bite your swollen lip before he leans down once more and kisses you softly. This time he does not bite or nip, nor force his way in and for a moment you are allowed to dream of sweeter moments. It was then, in your lust stupor you were slow to notice his hand at your chest, and the sudden distinct sound of fabric ripping and the clatter of several small objects falling to the hardwood floors. You feel the cool air prick your chest, and suddenly you see your breasts exposed to him, nipples perked in the biting air of the room.
Something between a gasp and a moan leaves you, and once again Dio pulls back to hover over your exposed body. “Y-You ruined it. Why did you tear it?” It is the first time that you are able to form words, and any attempt you make to protect your modesty he swats away with a nonchalant hand.
Huffing out a chuckle, before smirking and straddling your waist with his large knees, Dio touches each of your breasts with a feather-like touch. He drank your reaction, watching you shiver as he ghosted over your nipples, “You worry too much about the destruction of your gown and not your own.” He speaks plainly, pure honesty paired with his handsome smirk, and suddenly you are reminded of the very reality of this situation, and the terror that still remains no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise.
As much as it sickens him, it thrills him just as much to see the terror burn in your eyes.
Before you can respond you feel the gentle grip on your breast turn pointed as he pinches your breast. When you opened your mouth to gasp, his sharp mouth latched on the other one and began to softly flick at the tight bud with his tongue, before bringing his mouth to suck on your breast. With each change you had given a stuttering cry, finding your hands knitting into the soft blond curls in an attempt to center yourself during waves of building passion. Dio can feel your hands writhe in his hair, desperately pulling his head closer to your chest as he pulls back for just a moment, to observe, to appreciate this beautiful, submissive creature he had found.
When he switches to your other breast, he cannot help himself but bite the soft skin and directly drink from the blue vein that circled your areola. At this, your nails dig into his scalp and it takes everything in him to detach as your head lolls back and fresh blood dribbles down your panting breasts. Your vision blurs, and you can only hear and feel him shift above you, before cold fingers press into your wet sex and steal your breath away.
Dio, taking advantage of your open mouth once again reclaims it, and begins to expertly pull your orgasm from you by rubbing his fingers in slow circles. Any inhibitions are forgotten, and you are merely rendered a beast of flesh, a carrier of biological intention as your thighs begin to rub together chasing the building heat in your sopping core. Something animal, based in pure instinct unfurls and you find yourself returning Dio’s cool fervor. Where he bites, you bite back, as his mouth pushes against yours you push harder back, bruising your already swollen lips against your teeth. When he releases your mouth and holds your chin in his grip, he is met with the look of his own personal devil, his base instincts being pulled from him startlingly ease. Amidst the fog of your own lust, your pink tongue licked at his finger, causing his grin to only deepen as he pressed your place most intimate harder with skilled fingers.
Words cannot describe the hot sensation that curled in your stomach and radiated through the tips of your toes and the crown of your curls. Every inch of skin felt burning, exposed to his lechrous touch as he continued to guide you right to the edge. Your moans and whines had become deaf to your own ears, fully immersed in the feeling as it pulled closer and closer, bucking your hips faster and faster into his palm. Feeling right on the precipice, you feel him pull suddenly away, pressing his wet hand into your thigh as his other releases your chin and slowly hitches your leg over his shoulder. Split open, the night air licks the drenched center of your thighs and your whole body begins to shake with anticipation. You wiggle and squirm as Dio watches amused at your futile attempts to find release, to rut yourself over any bit of friction your body could find.
“So desperate for my touch… I truly cherish you most like this.” His words rumble against your inner thigh as he tugs your waist closer to him, completely lifting your hips from the bed. Still wiggling, you are sorely unprepared for when his tongue began to flick at your core. You cannot help but cry out, your body shivering in pleasure as it tore through every sense you prided yourself for. Any words were reduced to begging cries, this time solely begging for your release from this tortuous yet sweet burning pleasure.
You come undone when he inserts a thick digit inside and curls it, milking your orgasm in one swift blow. He can’t stop the moan that leaves him when the blond feels your walls clasp tightly around his finger, squeezing so hard it slipped out. A rush of your release pours out and soaks his thighs, as you are lost in the throes of newfound pleasure, legs haplessly shaking. His large palm rocks against your clit, and lengthens your climax as your body limply falls to the now wet sheets.
Still riding the wave of your release, even his touch is enough to guide you back to climax. Hands fisting the pillows and sheets, you watched with lidded, cum drunk eyes as Dio undid his pants.
And you are struck with the fleeting feeling that perhaps you should have been more worried about your destruction.
Even if you had seen another’s manhood in the flesh, you don’t think it would have ever prepared you for the length that he brandished. With wide, glassy eyes you watched Dio fist the thick, large member, his long fingers barely touching as he grasped his cock. The room, now thick with the smell of sex, felt suddenly suffocating as you realized that he would attempt to fit that inside you.
Your kidnapper saw the flicker of apprehension, and simply shifted your body closer so your entrance pressed against his freezing cock. You puff out a breath in surprise, and then another in pleasure when you feel the head of his manhood brush against your most sensitive point, before sliding back and resting right at your virginal opening.
“ Please…” You whine, cry out breathless and at this point you are sure what you are asking for. Before you can decipher your own desire, Dio spears you with his own. The sensation is enough to decenter you, knock the wind straight out of you as you feel the blonde penetrate deep inside. While foreign, it feels deeply right and never in your life had you felt complete in this way. His mouth finds yours, and not letting you a chance to adjust, the large man fucks you roughly and deeply.
Your tears, cries of pleasure and pain, he consumes as Dio feels you grip his cock with your addicting heat. He could die here, kill to be there, and surrender most of his pride just to feel the pulse of your virginal core milk his cock to release. Anything you pour out he drinks, and Dio finds himself drunk from just your taste and touch alone, a terrible combination for a hedonistic vampire. Pupils blown and drunk chasing his own orgasm, he watches you fist the sheets and pillow, fumbling for purchase as he roughly fucks your cunt like his own personal toy.
This was his wedding gift.
You almost pull him over the edge when you cum on his member, squeezing him so tight he pulls out and simply pants. In the flickering candlelight, Dio’s length shines with your arousal and he feels the bed soaked with your second release.
“Jonathan… Jonathan will come tomorrow in an attempt to steal you away with his pathetic heroics. He will try to kill me once more, and in order to shed my last dregs of humanity before facing him I needed to.. No, wanted to kill this lingering affliction.”
You were still completely preoccupied with chasing your own breath, trying to still your still shaking limbs as your climax still left you sensitive and pliant. Unable to pull away, you let Dio flip you on your belly and pull your hips back to feel the bump of his cock against your quivering cunt. You mumble incoherently, a cacophony of please, stop, no, don’t, stop, please bubbling from your bruised lips only serving as music to your terrifying paramour. His large hand come to rest on the crown of your head, lightly pushing it deeper into the mattress as he once again entered you with blinding ferocity. Peppered with your moans you can hear the lewd sound of his hard flesh slamming into the soft of your ass, accompanied by your soaking cunt producing the most depraved, wet noises. Dio has begun to loosen the tight binds of his self control, letting himself sink into the pull of pleasure that your beautiful cunt had begun to milk from him. Deep moans and gasps poured from him, and just when you think that would be the final thing you heard before he fucked you in exhaustion, his hand tighten the grip on your hair and wretches your back towards him. Releasing the burning grip on your hair, he gripped your chin and painfully bent your mouth to meet his as he continued to roughly fuck you from behind. Dio’s tongue pushed against yours, his desperation plain as he tried to dominate every part of your body.
In your delirious and suggestible state, you arrived at your third orgasm and found yourself grateful for his strong, bruising grip as you could only resign yourself to crying and shaking through the hot pleasure that ripped through you. Fully spent, he allowed you to slump forward but wormed his now free hand between your thighs and rubs your overstimulated clitoris while his cock continued to pound away at your tired cunt.
Despite your limited experience and your lack of vision, you can feel that this time its different. Dio had begun to fray at the edges, the punishing pace no longer rhythmic but more sporadic as he buried himself deeply in your sex. Curses, melted with words of affection, and breathy moans began to fall from his own swollen lips as he felt you once again, approach release and grip his cock with that pulsating, warm piece of heaven that laid between your legs. His nails dig into your soft waist and the one fingering your cunt moves to grip your ass, and pull apart the fat of your hips to watch your sweet pussy devour his cock.
It’s this sight that fully unravels the brutal vampire, pleasure cascading through every pore as he felt his cock pump his seed deep in your still pulsing core. Finally spent himself, and acutely aware of the heavy smell of sex and sweat that permeated the room, he collapsed on top of you. Once again you are pressed against the bed, feeling his weeping still heavy cock press against your ass as reality begins to trickle back to your senses. Dio remains there, your terrible dark prince, resting against your body and listening to the sound of your once frantic heartbeat slow to a rhythmic, lulling pace.
“Dio… you are crushing me.” You mumble this into the mattress, and Dio cannot help himself but chuckle and toss his fluffy blond curls to the side.
Raising himself on his forearms, he flopped next to you and began to idly trace circles against your hipbone. His head was leaned up against the pillow, an arm propped behind his head as the picture perfection vision of relaxation. Even after he had brutally fucked you and had pulled many lewd noises from your mouth, you couldn’t help but remain bashful despite it all.
“That is the first time you have called me by my name, pet.” Dio’s voice guides you back to the room and away from the spiral of embarrassment that had begun to form.
“I suppose I… I finally believe that you are him, my fiancé afterall.” When you say this you cannot face him, simply curling into your own body as you try to shield yourself from the chill that had begun to settle on your exposed flesh.
“Then this next part will bring great sadness then, my beloved.” Confused, you turn your head to meet his eyes and find him once again sliding over your body and claiming your mouth with his. Drunk with desire, and the pain of yearning for acceptance you let himself claim you once more completely.
You feel his hands return to your chest, and instead of the tender touch you expected you are met with the most unimaginably, horrible, all consuming pain you had ever felt in your small existence. His tongue still deep in your mouth, the sudden agony that rips through every sense causes you to bite down on his tongue, sending a flood of copper into your waning tastebuds. Frenzied with torment, you looked down to be met with a vision of red, purple, and shock white in the place where your breasts should be.
While you had sucked stupidly at your dead paramour's tongue, the devil had ripped open your chest, exposing your still beating heart and lungs to the open air still perfumed with your sex. Whatever Dio sees in your eyes, it flushes him with a venomous rage that causes him to grip your chin for the last time, and spit blood from his leaking tongue into your gaping mouth. For just a moment you flounder, choking on your own blood before death claims the light of your eyes and Dio drops your limp, lifeless body to the soaked mattress.
Now that the last of his humanity had been killed, he was promised certain glory over the dominion of humanity. And more importantly, Jonathan Joestar.
epilogue: future games
A few days later, Dio had been defeated by hamon power wielded by the determined Joestar heir. When Speedwagon and Jonathan had searched the ruin estate for you, they had encountered the massacre that occurred on your bridal bed. This time it had been Speedwagon tearing Jonathan away from your cold corpse saying that they must flee at once, lest Dio’s surviving minions would make another bold attempt at their already weak state.
The next morning, when they had returned to collect your remains they found the room empty, a bloodstained mattress and ruined dress the only remnants of your existence. Frustrated, Jonathan and Speedwagon had exhausted all means to try and find where your corpse had been shuttled off to, before relinquishing himself to the reality of not knowing.
Erina, upon learning of your terrible fate, had cried for a straight week and could only comforted to a restless sleep from Jonathan’s strong arms.
You had, however, woken to the unfamiliar ceiling before peeling your nude body from the crusted, dried mattress. The very air around you felt overstimulating, and when you open your tongue to the exposed air you can taste the blood of rats pumping vivaciously through their fat, scurrying bodies as they scuttled about the decaying mansion.
Like a bad dream, the hole in your chest was now healed and whole however the unmarred skin remained a tint more gray. Something you would come to learn that was only noticeable when the moon was at its brightest and fullest.
Despite your heightened state, you could not sense Dio. Thrust freshly into this newfound affliction, you got the profound sense you would be stumbling through it alone as Dio… Dio felt gone. It was as if in your slumber a new set of instincts had been hardwired in, and felt the absence of your maker deep to your genetic code.
Licking your dry lips you feel the prick of something sharp along your tongue. Turning to face the only mirror in the room, you leaned forward to admire the two shock white fangs that grew from your gums. Still nude, and giddy with newfound prospects, you began to carve away your plans to live most decadently, and take full advantage of the curse Dio had forced upon you.
Despite it all, you would keep living.
author's note:
soo... thoughts? I would love to hear what you think and if you enjoyed this! likes & reblogs are always appreciated. I am also open to requests as well :))) overall I am still pretty proud of how this turned out and I hope you enjoyed it too. till next time <3
on that note ive written like 17k words of trevor philips x reader and only been sending it to One Friend.... i dont wanna post to ao3 yet bc thats a Large Commitment but im tempted to post here bc it feels less serious
Cannibalism as a form of love, you let yourself be consumed by your betrothed.
Does surrender always taste this bittersweet?
Phantom Blood!Dio x Betrothed!Reader
chapter four: all rivers at once
“Well, the window is not opening by itself. Something must be wrong with it.” You fold your arms, frowning deeply before shaking your head, “I apologize for being blunt but you must understand that this predicament is affecting my sleep.”
The man shifts from foot to foot, rubbing his dark mustache, and then his chin before giving a resigned sigh, “I can install a reinforced bar across its window, therefore you would have to unlock it before it could swing open. Should anything be faulty with the latch, this will prevent it.”
Throwing up your arms in defeat, you stalk out of the room only to be trailed by your head of staff, Percy, following behind like a shadow. Perhaps if he had done that originally, on the first visit, you would have had several sleep gowns still intact.
Since Jonathan had been welcomed into the east wing of the estate (Erina on your side, in the west), your dreams and sleepwalking had only grown in ferocity. Several nights the watchmen, as well as the stableboy and even Erina herself , had found you putting about in the dead of night in the gardens. You were often hunched over, ferociously digging in the earth with broken and stained nails. Upset with your own affliction, you had begged Mary, the head maid and your personal attendant, to tie you down in the bed.
That very same evening, Albert, the same man who had driven you home from the hospital, had found you wandering the grounds bleeding at your wrists and armed with a silver bladed knife. In a secret pact, you and Mary agreed not to tie yourself down going forward. Even if the nicks on your wrist were shallow, they were devastatingly close to the blue vein that prominently bulged on the underside of your wrist.
Reflecting back, this was just a few days after Jonathan and Erina’s homecoming. The same day that Jonathan had encountered that mysterious instructor of his, where he spent most of his days training under. As time stretched on, around two weeks for that matter, you had gained insight that perhaps Jonathan and Erina were hiding a secret from you.
At first you assumed it to be their blossoming romance, from their shared whispers and quick looks in your direction every time you entered the room. A distinct feeling of being caught rolled off in waves from the young man, while Erina was always able to play it off coolly, asking about how your studies had been treating you. Strict conventions kept you inside only to converse with intimate friends and family for at least two months, and then an additional 7 months of mourning awaited you. After a complete year, you would be released from the proverbial chains of death and rush right back into the soft pastels, the deep maroons, and royal blues that awaited you in your growing closet. Every two weeks, a large package from the seamstress would arrive and it would send your head spinning with glee, feeling the soft imported silks and basking in the jewels’ glimmer. Another stunning evening gown to add to your collection for when you would be able to re-enter society, and thus officially begin scouting out a husband.
However, in the meantime, you poured over the ancient library that your father, and your father’s father and the like had meticulously collected and maintained over the years. Studies of modern politics, economics, and an updated encyclopedia collection were added to the lists for Percy to order you now that you had fully delved into your research. To find a capable husband, you would have to be a capable woman but also remain respectably in your place as his inferior, trying to find the fickle balance and remain as an educated and docile woman.
Wanting to brush off the annoyance from that oblivious locksmith, you stomped towards the library with full intent of locking yourself away until the evening. Percy, ever patient, had helped you set up in the library and deftly avoided your barbed quips, and had full intentions of leaving you to stew until a package arrived. Recognizing the shape, he smiled broadly and carried the luxuriously wrapped delivery up to your study where you still remained hunched over your book and your journal open and drying the fresh ink from your notes.
Hearing the door open, you straightened your posture and set the fountain pen on the pine desk, “Percy, I thought I was not to be disturbed until dinner.” You see his outline in the window in front of you, spread across the evening landscape darkening with the setting sun.
“My apologies, my lady. But it seems that another delivery arrived for you, and I am positive that this will be a welcome interruption.” To emphasize, you see his reflection lift the large object in his arms, and you finally turn to meet him standing in the doorway.
It was a dress delivery. One that you hadn’t been expecting, as a walking set had arrived just days prior. No matter, the box and the wrapping were entirely different from the boxes that the seamstress had sent you. A gift perhaps? From Jonathan?
A feeling of familiarity wiggles in your stomach as you recognize the wrapping, exclusively associated with an up and coming prominent designer that only the most wealthy could purchase, much less commission. Trying to still the beating of your heart, you jump from the chair and quickly take the package, all the while attempting to smother the grin that began to grow on your soft lips. Setting it on the nearest polished table, you pluck the folded card looped around the package with a silk tie and feel your heart burst with confirmation.
Charles Frederick Worth.
You squeal in delight, the long coveted designs had dominated the clippings you had collected and now lost in the burning fire. Jonathan must have splurged, must have remembered your bias towards the designer located in Paris. How he had afforded it given the conditions, much less facilitate it with such a quick turnaround was beyond you. Briefly you gleaned underneath the signature from the designer was a hand written inscription with your name, and the phrase “ I will see it through.” Before you could dwell too much into the meaning, you excitedly ripped open the box to see the heaviest, most luxurious gown you had ever laid eyes on.
The gown was constructed from deep, red velvet, the beautiful heavy skirt folded underneath the white lace beaded top that dipped deeply to where your cleavage would rest and the sleeves covering only the barest bit of your shoulders and leaving your neckline entirely exposed. The crocheted lace dipped from the bodice to the waistline, forming a delicate ‘V’ shape that only accentuated the small of your waist and the soft of your breast. Small pearls accented the cream lace, and it was then that you noticed a smaller sleeve tucked into the large puff of crimson, heavily beaded with natural cream pearls. Pulling the top out, you marveled at the intricacies and placed it over your breast as you waltzed to look in the mirror that hung over the fireplace. You giggled and hummed to yourself, imagining yourself draped in the beautiful heavy fabric instead of your pitch black garb.
Percy, amused to finally see the girlish antics he had become accustomed to under his time at the Joestar mansion, took his leave and began to see to the details of rapidly approaching dinner hour.
At dinner over poached duck and roasted asparagus, you had inquired about the gift and Jonathan only returned your question with a look of confusion before he and Erina shared a knowing look. Still bubbling from your earlier confrontation with the locksmith, you felt a spark of betrayal flutter through you from their growing bond and their wordless messages.
“Perhaps it was just a misdelivery?” Erina offers this, casting a placating look in your direction as she placed a piece of duck on her tongue.
Swallowing, you hum, “I thought the same at first however it was addressed to me. Perhaps a neighboring governess as my name.” You finish the thought off with a deep dreg of wine, maintaining eye contact with the squirming Joestar across from you.
“Y-Yes, that seems to be the most likely answer.” Even from the small distance, you can see the sheen of sweat along his brow as he nervously glanced between you and Erina.
Turning your head to the side, you gaze out the window to the rolling hills of the estate before swiveling back and seeing Jonathan finishing distinctly mouthing something to Erina who also sat across from him. Erina, keenly aware of your now pointed look, subtly shakes her head before diving back into her meal. You watch the two for a moment, placing your elbows on the table and folding your hands so your chin can rest as you observe the two.
So they were keeping secrets.
Playfully, you smirk, “What are you hiding from me?” Erina remains cool, looking over to you with a blank smile while Jonathan profusely begins to sweat.
“What would make you say that?” The blonde asks, her head titled inquisitively.
Frowning, you sit up, “Oh, come off it Erina. I see your secret looks and have walked in on you whispering to one another. Jonathan is also a terrible liar and currently sitting in a puddle of his own sweat.” At this, the large man blushed and looked away, taking the cloth napkin from the table and furiously dabbing at his forehead.
Matching your frown, Erina huffed a sigh before looking back at you, “I have not the slightest idea what you mean.”
“Well how about I give you my insight. I have an admirer that you are aware of, perhaps that Speedwagon fellow, and you two must play dumb until I am allowed in public again Or …” You tap the table with a single finger, your grin only growing.
“Or?” Erina said, now amused.
“You are pregnant.” At this, Jonathan, who was mid-sip of water, sputters his drink out in shock before quickly apologizing and grabbing your cloth napkin to wipe his face. His being still fully damp from the sweat he had attempted to cover just moments before.
While Jonathan had resigned himself to panic, Erina merely laughed before placing a hand on your forearm, “Incorrect, but I have missed your teasing. I take it your little gift has lifted your spirits?”
“You could say that. Percy witnessed me at my wit’s end with that damn locksmith. If a man like that can find his way through the world, I would imagine I should be more than capable of surviving the next couple years.” At this, feeling the loosening of your tongue from the wine, you let you a belt of laughter that is joined by Erina.
Once your giggles had died down, Erina gave the soft of your arm a squeeze, “I’m glad the gift served its purpose then. I know you have been feeling… quite unwell these past weeks.”
Satisfied with your inquisition, you switched the topic to Jonathan’s daily visits with his trainer and started to prod about what exactly he was training for before Erina had offered to refill your wine glass and you had become distracted once more. Feeling the haze of wine cling to your senses and dye your teeth, you excused yourself for the evening and tutted off to bed.
Mary, who had Sundays off, was unable to assist you into your nightgown so you opted to step out of the pool of black cotton and slide nude and drunk into the soft covers. In your stupor, you had managed to collect all the pins from your hair and take off any hindering jewelry, letting yourself sway a moment in front of the mirror as you took in the newly installed iron bar across the floor to ceiling window.
At some point in the evening, Percy had brought your gift up from the library and deposited it in the middle of your closet, hanging in all its ruby glory. Curled in the soft down covers that smelled faintly of lavender, you fell into the deepest sleep you had experienced in a long time.
You are awoken to the feeling of being tugged on, and something pulling insistently at your midsection. Groggily, you open your eyes and the only thing you can register is red. For a moment your mind renders you back to that terrible night, and you are only sucked back to the present when your fists burrow into the deep velvet folds of your dress. Blinking several times, you realize that you are standing in your room wearing the gown you had recently been gifted (currently under the assumption it was from Erina) and glanced back to see Mary finishing tightening your corset, before looping the final laces.
Confused, you rub your eyes and your fingers come away black, stained with makeup you did not remember applying. Glancing around the room, you see yourself in the reflection, a picture of opulence and beauty, like a fresh red rose, primed for plucking. Your cheeks are shaded with a light rouge and your eyes, now slightly smudged, were outlined in black that gave the illusion of a sultry, lidded gaze. Unable to see Mary’s face in the reflection, you watch the soft brown curls bob up and down as she moves down the back of the dress.
Your room is dimly lit by a single candle and the sliver of moonlight from the clear, crisp evening. Panic begins to prickle at the base of your skull, feeling the gentle breeze rock through the swaying, open window. Trying to tug yourself away, you feel yourself snapped back into place by an unusually strong grip and once more spare a panicked glance to the shrouded face of your trusted maid.
“M-Mary… I fear that my affliction may be contagious and you have fallen ill.” Swallowing deeply, you rock your bare feet against the hardwood and push yourself forward. Mary’s hands suddenly release the ties and causing you to stumble towards your desk and grab the object your animal instincts guided you towards. A thin, silver knife with a black handle. The same one that you had cut your bonds with when you had been tied down to your giant, oak bedframe. The same one that had suddenly appeared after that night, its origin a blank spot in your mind. While you had no intention of using it, gripping the weapon in your tight fist eased the growing anxiety that rumbled in your belly.
“My lady… I am not ill. I have simply been given special instructions by the master. It was of utmost importance that I prepared you.” The brunette’s hands remain lifted, as if simply paused in the action of lacing up your gown. In your panic you had not realized that she had completed it, and your release may have been something she allowed.
“Mary, you are scaring me. There is no master to this house. If you are referring to Jonathan there is no reason he would wake me at this dreadful hour. Much less…” You look down at the gown, noticing that the train remained unpinned so if suddenly you had to make a quick sprint for the door you would have to make the vital decision between grabbing the massive, heavy skirt, or keeping the knife in your vice grip. Dropping the knife would give you the advantage of not tripping, however would leave you unguarded. However, if you carried the knife… you stood a high chance of tripping over the unhemmed bottom. In what felt like minutes was merely a few seconds as your fear flipped rapidly through these scenarios, survival instincts pumping you closer, and closer to the open window. While it might be a steep fall, a large azealia bush stood below and could hopefully cushion the worst lest you had to jump.
The brunette maid remained almost frozen in midaction, before her head tilted to the right in an odd, unnatural angle. A quiet whine began to build, seemingly coming from the familiar woman, “My master is not that filthy , pathetic Joestar. My master is glorious, he is truly beautiful and benevolent to his followers. I am blessed with the honor of preparing his bride.” Taking a shuddering step, you heard her body creak and snap as her facade came into the blue halo of moonlight, “My lord Dio has prepared your wedding, my lady.”
Finally you are able to see her face, and between the horror of your late fiance being mentioned, and the macabre image that was your beloved maid’s face, you feel a scream of despair rip through your throat. Where once there was round, plump cheeks had withered and grayed, yellow fat slopping down her face and exposing her white gums and black teeth. Her button nose was now smashed, and oozing a thick, tar like substance that dribbled down her chin. The most unnatural, disgusting part was her mouth, and the slick purple tongue that whipped around her gnashing black teeth, chattering and clicking as she stumbled closer.
Fear and tears blurred your vision, and you pushed yourself to the window and began to scream madly for Jonathan, for Percy, for anyone to come save you from this terrible, vivid nightmare. That’s right, you must be dreaming. This must be another terrible dream that you will wake up from. Running on pure instinct, you brandish the knife, “You’re not real. You’re just some terrible nightmare I’m having. I’ll wake up soon and remember nothing. You’re not real.”
Despite your attempts to soothe yourself, you couldn’t help but smell the earth and decay that wafted over to you from the now much too close apparition. Covering your mouth and nose, you hold the knife pointed as you swing a leg over the ledge of the window. It was a menacing drop, but perhaps something this jarring would be enough to wake you from the nightmare. And at least the bush was big enough to cushion the fall, on the off chance you were experiencing this. You carefully adjusted your grip on the blade, before giving another desperate glance towards the creature that still hobbled towards you, and then pushed yourself over the ledge.
With your eyes closed you felt the rush of cool air pinch your exposed flesh before suddenly you are stopped, the ground never reaching you like you had anticipated. For a moment you wonder if you had actually broken the spell of sleep, and opened your eyes to see something much more terrible.
Dio looked down at you, his terrifying beauty piercing you deep to the core and you felt nothing but fear as you withered under his terrible, crimson gaze. He had caught you mid-air, and now held you as a husband held his bride, just meters above the ground. Your stomach drops like a stone, and for a second your vision blurs as you struggle to breathe under his cruel gaze.
“I promised you, my little lamb. I would see this through.” When he grins in the pale moonlight, you see the glint of two prominent teeth, and you realized these were the same monstrous fangs you had witnessed a month ago. This was the same terrible devil that Jonathan had vanquished, the same one that had burned in the pyre of the estate.
The blade burns in your palm as a reminder, and the devil in yourself rears its ugly head as you plunge the dagger into his porcelain throat, feeling arterial spray coat your tongue as your open mouth gives a desperate cry. For a moment you feel the familiar rush of air, and you think for a moment the creature had dropped you before once again you feel the cold, large hands snatch your wrist just to let you dangle a breath from the ground.
A deep chuckle rumbles above you, one freckled with familiarity and you glance upwards to his burning smirk, “How ignorant of me to assume that you would come willingly to slaughter.” You try to wiggle your palm away, seeing the silver blade still embedded deep in his neck. A mortal wound on anything else, a mere annoying scratch on the nefarious foe that clutched your feeble wrist.
Suddenly he drops you, and you tumble to your hands and knees as his brown boots stand before you. Wordlessly, you watch your tears drip to the grass and realize that there will be no salvation, no redemption from this gruesome death that awaited you. Voice shaking, you speak to the ground, “I rebuke you devil. I rebuke your temptations. I hear your voice whisper to me every night and I ignored its call. You may take my flesh but my soul will not be tarnished by your temptations.” Angrily, you look up, “You may wear my beloved’s skin, but that is not enough to seduce me to your dark path, devil .” You spat the last part out, feeling his grin only deepen in dark mirth.
“How amusing, you think my body possessed… Even when faced with the blunt reality of my prowess, your human mind fabricates reality to justify what your heart yearns for.” His laughter echoes on the silent grounds, and even in the dead of night the normal chatter of nocturnal creatures are rendered quiet, all alerted to the apex predator that patrolled the grassy plains. You hear the distinct sound of squelching before a spatter of blood dropped to the grass in front of you, the blade now twirling between Dio’s long, elegant fingers directly in your eyeline.
Blinking away tears, you watch as several objects flutter softly to the ground, a few landing on the backside of your hands. You rolled back to rest on your heels, grabbed the little thing and examined it under the dim moonlight. Feeling your heartbeat in your throat, you recognize it as the same one you had mailed Dio months ago. Scattered in the grass were all the flowers you had personally picked and pressed, still fragrant with the perfume you smashed against the now ruined bedroom wall that terrible night. Reality sets in like wet cement, and you feel as if your head is full of lead as you roll yourself back and try to scoot away, pushing your already stained nails into the soft earth.
Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he stalks over to you and grabs your leg as you scramble for purchase, “My gifts go once again unappreciated. I remembered your devotion to this particular designer, and you sully it to spite me.” He pulls your bare calf towards him, feeling the pinch of his sharp nails dig into your plush skin. Flipping over you realize you are caged beneath him, locked under his crouched form with his groin dangerously close to your breast and your heavy gown hitched up to expose the curve of your thigh. This close you are flushed with his familiar cologne, a sickening reminder that perhaps your vessel of affection was truly the perpetrator all along.
Dio leans down, his expression one of rapt fascination and blood lust, “I told you I would plan our wedding, did I not?” At this he grabs your face in a single hand, gripping your jaw with crushing force, causing your lips to force open. His blond curls tickle your slick forehead, damp with fear and adrenaline as Dio watches your eyes move with panic. Inhaling deeply, he can smell, no, taste your fear perfume the air, “A man pours himself out for his betrothed to drink and you spit it out, the ever petulant brat you are. You suckle on the teat of privilege, and are weakened by it.”
At this you begin to cry, and he can only grin wildly as his cruel hand wipes away your tears that flood your perfect cheek, “Nevermind, my love. I have given you a choice. Fulfill your duty as my bride and submit to your fate, or die by the hand you promised yourself to.”
Dio can hear the roar of your virginal blood pump beneath his fingertips, your heart beating rapidly like a caged pheasant who knew its approaching slaughter. The vampire watched as you struggled with words, still desperately trying to wiggle out beneath him before slumping into defeat. Before he could get your answer however, he is interrupted by the clatter of a blunt object colliding with his skull. Releasing your face, he lets you drop to the ground as he whirls to face a boy, no man, just stepping in adulthood dropping a heavy shovel in shock.
Shock pales his features, and before the man could finish the sentence he stumbled over, Dio shot his hand out and crushed the feeble man's skull in a single blow. With amusement, he watched the headless lump of flesh tumble to the ground, licking the residual blood from his fingertips. “Your answer, my pet. I still need-” He turns back to face you, and is stopped mid sentence as you had passed out cold from this final shock. Your hair wild, and your hands stained with blood and dirt, Dio found himself obsessively drawn to you and even he himself could not deny the call of your blood running beneath his clawed fingertips.
Rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, he leaned down to scoop your limp body and gently guided your head to rest against his cool, pallid neck. Satisfied with your hot, rhythmic breath against his skin, he strutted forward to the undead carriage that awaited him. Two tall horses tapped restlessly at the cobblestone, as the zombified driver flicked his hot ash from his cigarette along their tanned hides. The animals huffed and snarled, no longer the docile creatures they had once been.
Giving one last glance to the still sleeping mansion, Dio entered the dark carriage and held your warm body against his, drinking in the glow of your beauty as the carriage gently rocked its way to Windknight’s Lot. Yet another decision he had made for you, for the better of your relationship.
Cannibalism as a form of love, you let yourself be consumed by your betrothed.
Does surrender always taste this bittersweet?
Phantom Blood!Dio x Betrothed!Reader
chapter three: sour times
Shock was a funny thing. After Dio had caged you in the corner, he had reached a slender, blood-soaked hand to your cheek. In your mind’s eye you could not recall what happened next, and that suddenly you were in the garden still drenched in blood, stumbling towards the fountain in desperate need of washing your hands and face, and rinsing the terrible taste from your tongue.
Later Jonathan had regaled back to you that, while he had been slow to recover from Dio’s blitz attack at the bottom of the stairs, he had witnessed your little interaction. Dio had said something dreadfully inappropriate after slaughtering the poor, young policeman in front of you, which was an additional horrendous offense to your sensitive nature. Boiling with rage, and incensed to defend your life from the vile man, Jonathan had rushed up the stairs keeping a keen eye on you both. Dio raised his large, terrible hand to your cheek, and even from the distance Jonathan could see you recoil in fear, pressing your body flush to the wall.
Enraged, Jonathan shouted at the man he once called his brother, splintering his unwavering focus away from you for just a moment. It was then, with Dio’s head tilted in Jonathan’s direction that you had turned your head and bit the blond’s first two fingers hard enough for Jonathan to hear a crack and see the spurt of crimson burst from your mouth, followed by Dio’s surprised and hurt cry.
Once his hand had been released from your face, Jonathan watched you duck under the now bleeding appendage and sprint towards the staircase just steps away. The newly made vampire immediately recoiled, bringing the gushing digits to his chest before giving a wild laugh and turning to pursue you. It was then that the Joestar heir had reached the top of the landing, just as Dio tried to take the first step towards you and successfully blocked his attempt.
From the garden you remembered the man from the foyer, the one with the top hat, had come to collect you. The tall, blond had found you wading in the fountain, soaked and unaware of the mansion, burning behind you. You were bent over, hunched in the shimmering water trying to rinse the terrible taste from your mouth. In the pale moonlight and the flickering flames, Speedwagon, you had later learned his name, had seen you practically nude as the pale peach tones of your silk house dress did nothing to hide your dignity. And in your shock you had also been blissfully unaware of your state, and tried to politely decline the offer of his jacket for fear of ruining it.
Finally convinced you had let him guide you from the marble fountain, and accepted the thick jacket. Speedwagon remained very close to you, leading you politely by the elbow and in your daze all you could think of was just months before where your fiancé had walked side by side with you in the exotic greenhouses, and had accurately named all the butterflies that fluttered above your head.
You two remained near the edge of the estate, watching everything you had come to know the last few years crumble and burn. Even from a distance you could feel the heat of the flames on your face, licking your features and drying the soaked ends of your messy hair. After standing proudly for hundreds of years, passed between the upstanding line of Joestar gentlemen, the building shuddered and released a giant sigh as the roof caved into the center and buried the dozens of men strewn about.
Numb to sound, you do not startle at the explosion that caused your teeth to chatter. Speedwagon stepped in front of you to shield you from the sudden heat wave that rolled over you both, and you only returned your attention back to the dire scene when the chill of the cool air began to prick your back.
Jonathan, bloodied and bruised but still breathing, lay just meters away from you. A cry of joy, shock, and something akin to grief cuts through you and you stumble to his side, pushing past Speedwagon and dropping to your knees on the soft, wet grass. You pressed your face into his chest and began to sob, releasing all the emotion twisted up inside in stuttering gasps.
You had woken to an unfamiliar ceiling, the deep brown beams of oak differed from the canopy of maroon and mauve that you had been accustomed to. Where there should be shelves lined with your personal effects, and the deep cherry wood of your desk instead was a mostly barren room with two massive windows letting in the mid-morning sun. On your bedside was a pitcher of water, a glass, and a single rose. The next thing you noticed was how stiff and sore your entire body was, and how the pain rolled down from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Everything felt taunt, like you had been wound too tight for much too long and now your body had to suffer the consequences.
Ignoring the ache that seemed to burn to your very marrow, you reached for the glass in need of relieving the sour taste and dryness that had gathered in your mouth. Pouring the water, you hungrily drank before refilling and guzzling down the glass again. In the privacy of your room you allowed yourself to shed the skin of etiquette, preferring this wild version of yourself that lurked only behind a closed door. Wiping your mouth on your sleeve, you noticed that you were no longer dressed in the ruined gown you last remembered and for a moment you briefly fumbled through the events of the night prior before a chill ran down your spine. Reclining back to the pillows and soft down of the bed, you set the glass down and eyed the thornless rose left near your bedside. By now you had gathered you were in a hospital, or something akin to it, and given the circumstances of your… late fiancé it felt like a mocking reminder.
Yes… That’s right. Dio Brando, your fiancé has died. He has been murdered by some terrible beast and something that had stolen his skin. That was the only explanation for what happened that terrible night. No of course, the man you had pined for would never do something so horrible, so vile. Looking down at your nails you noticed them stained with dirt, and what you assumed must be blood. Had you not known better, it appeared that you had gone digging like a wild woman in the earth without a care to preserve your usually well maintained manicure.
The creak of the door tore your attention away from your chipped nails, and to your surprise you were met with the face of an old friend. “Erina! When did you return?” For a moment, the heavy air leaves you and you allow a bright smile to greet your dear friend.
“I returned from India just a few days ago. I had sent a letter but I definitely outpaced it. I had plans to come visit the Joestar estate as soon as I hit land again but… but I was glad that I was here to meet you in town.” Erina glided over to your bedside, a tray in her hands bearing bright, fresh berries, an assortment of different breakfast pastries, and then finally a piping hot kettle with two accompanying tea cups and saucers. While the china was nothing but standard, very humble compared to the opulence you had regular access to at the Joestar estate, it was still a welcome and warming surprise.
“Is that why I feel the picture of health after experiencing a night of hell?” A dark chuckle leaves your lips as you stretch your arms overhead, feeling the muscles begin to loosen and relax with movement.
“No, my dear, you can attribute that to your own stubbornness.” You huff in agreement, letting your arms flop to your sides before accepting the cup and saucer, now filled with a fresh brewed cup and your standard amount of cream and sugar.
“I feel flattered that even after all this time you still remember how I prepared my cup.” While Erina Pendleton had been a pretty girl in her youth, she had bloomed into the picture of perfection while she had been gone. The roundness of her features had matured and sculpted her into a soft, classic beauty that would have inspired many marble monuments to Venus. You watch her pour her own, her hands bright pink and raw from use.
“Oh please, and bear the brunt of your scorn? I think not!” When you looked up in surprise, you saw the teasing look on the woman’s face and felt your own split into a grin.
“Erina, you tease me too much. That was one time and you know I was sick with a fever.” You flushed a light pink recalling the memory, you and Erina just small girls playing pretend when you had a monumental meltdown that had been referenced every time your childhood friend had intended to tease you. Given the circumstances, it was a welcome jab that brought back nostalgia to a time when things were significantly simpler. Erina simply giggles, and then begins to add butter and clotted cream to the open faced pastry.
“You gave us quite a scare these past few days. Jonathan as well.” She sets the knife down onto the tray, “The doctor was nervous that you might have gotten hysteria from the excitement.”
At this you scoff and roll your eyes, and the two of you share a knowing look before accepting the offered pastry and exchanging it with your tea. “How is Jonathan faring? And Sir Joestar? And…” trailing off you look out towards the window, feeling the weight of what was unsaid settle in the room.
“My deepest condolences, (Y/N). Sir Joestar perished protecting Jonathan. Jonathan awoke not too long ago, he told me of his father's sacrifice. He protected him from… well, um, from Dio.” At the mention of your fiancé you flinch, feeling the heat of embarrassment and betrayal color your chest. Your appetite gone, you set your pastry down on the saucer and place it back on the tray, the clatter of china against silver ringing in the sterile room.
A bubble of grief bursts through you and you begin to cry, letting sobs wrack your body with each heaving, shuddering gasp. When your father had passed, George had filled in the gaps for you. Presenting you with new, beautiful gowns every birthday and holiday, luxurious hand-bound journals, popular, new fiction novels, and any other little trinket that your heart desires. On the first year of moving in, the patriarch had snuck (or had sent his butler to snoop) in the study closest to your room and purchased all the items you had circled in interest in the plethora of girls’ magazines.
“Oh, (Y/N), I'm so sorry.” As soon as your hands went to cover your face, Erina bolted upwards and began to hold you, rocking you softly to guide you through the storm of your emotions. Her hand gently petted your head, and you leaned your wet face to bury it into her shoulder. For a moment it feels like you can't catch your breath, and are only soothed when Erina guided you through with her gentle, guiding words.
Even after the well of your tears had dried, Erina remained rocking you gently and touched the crown of your head with delicate fingers. She hummed a distantly familiar tune, one that started to quickly lull you back to the land of dreams.
Shaking your head, and trying to rub the sleep from your eyes, you lean back to rest once again on the down pillows. “Jonathan… I forgot to ask. Is he well?”
The blonde began to worriedly thumb at the gem that was threaded through the silver chain of her necklace, “He's doing well now… but his injuries were quite severe. It may take him a week or two before he will be discharged. That brother of his did quite the number on him. When you are feeling up to it, I'd like to hear your side of things. Perhaps it is my more cynical nature but the story that Jonathan told me was quite fantastical.”
“My side?” You ponder for a moment on the events, your gaze resting on your hands neatly folded in your lap. “Truthfully I am having trouble recalling things in specific. I…I remember that something, I mean it must have been some sort of devil or maybe an evil itself came into the mansion.” You feel your eyes go glassy again, looking up to meet Erina's soft blue eyes, “It wore his skin Erina. My beloved, it wore his face.”
“Perhaps, yes.” You watch her expression flicker between something of uncertainty and discomfort, “Jonathan believes that it was Dio himself but… but I suppose since he passed there is no way for us to validate our beliefs.”
At the mention of your late fiancé, you let your head go limp against the pillows, casting your eyes upward towards the unfamiliar ceiling. “Right.” You let a deep sigh go out, before popping back upright, “Fetch me a notepad and something to write with please. There is much to do to prepare my home before I can invite Jonathan to stay.”
Erina releases a light chuckle paired with an amused look of disbelief, “You will be doing nothing of the sort, you are still on bedrest missy.”
Pouting, you cross your arms and tap a single finger against your forearm, “At least let me write up a task list for the Joestar house staff. Most of them are probably still looking for work or, more likely, recovering, and I’d like to move before we lose such good employees. Sir Joestar handpicked them himself, afterall.”
Shrugging a sigh of defeat, Erina rose to stand, “You always give such a convincing argument. I will allow you one hour to write down a list before I compel you to rest again. Deal?”
You smiled smugly, reveling in your bargaining skills, “Deal. I promise not to exert myself, not even a little. Think of it as my enrichment for the day.”
Erina gave one last chuckle and a parting wave as she left to go hunt down writing materials. In your mind you were already cataloging the necessary tasks, and filing through all the things that would have to be purchased in the next two weeks. Yes, the first thing was to hire a lawyer, a trusted one at that, to review the will of your father as well as George’s. You had to be practical about this, and hire an accountant as well to help balance the finances while Jonathan recovered from his near death experience.
In addition to those, there were all the small moving parts that daunted you the most. Furniture must be cleaned and unpacked, the wallpaper redone and curtains rehung, as well as every other little task that had to be completed before one could live comfortably at the estate. While it was not unheard of for progressive couples to have a home in the city and one in the county for the various seasons, weeks of preparation went into the upkeep and maintenance of those estates. In your home, the estate which you had been raised in, had been locked up and routinely maintained but was in no state to live in any time soon, much less host guests.
But given the circumstances, you needed a challenge and a satisfying win. More importantly you needed something to eat up every drop of spare time to keep you from dwelling on the events from several nights ago. While it still felt fresh, your body and mind longed to move on to something else to help shake the dread that had begun to burrow in your chest.
The next couple days dragged on, it felt like weeks given your state of impatience. Later that afternoon, you had met with the physician who had informed you that you would be released to return to your estate in three days time. Fine, you could do that. In three days that would leave you a week and half to help prepare for Jonathan’s arrival.
The next day you tried to bargain for more time with your notebook, as well as for Erina to mail off several letters that you had sneakily penned. When you felt you had reached an impasse with her blunt refusal, you cunningly offered her a room, of course with the purpose as acting nurse to a recovering Jonathan. Not for any other reason, you reassured her. Erina flushed a deep red before nervously agreeing and plucking the letters from your hand. Drunk on victory, you boldly asked if she could collect samples from the wallpaper store and was silenced with a withering glare, leaving you to meekly pen your plans for the upcoming return.
The day before your release and a little over a week into your hospital stint, you had restlessly begged for Erina to mail out more letters. Several addressed to dressmakers and tailors, one to a cobbler, another to salesman who retailed fine china, and the last bundle to several large stores asking to fulfill an order as soon as possible. Having lost your trump card early in the game, you begged and whined for her until she finally gave in and rolled her eyes in annoyance as you gleefully handed the bundle of mail. The very same day the head of staff, the late Sir George Joestar’s butler, visited you and graciously expressed his deepest condolences, as well as his appreciation for the job offer.
At once you two meticulously worked on plans for the closed estate, detailing what finery went where, as well as what repairs took priority and what could wait until after Jonathan’s welcoming party. A cook would have to be hired, and promptly as well as a dinner menu that would go through rigorous trial runs before approval. The butler, Percy, had a spectacular butcher and supplier for other assorted groceries. A local cheese monger was already scheduled to deliver that particular order, and by the looks of it your ice room would be full of a choice supply before the weekend.
On the day of your release, you had politely requested to visit Jonathan and was politely declined by your doctor. Jonathan still had another week to go before he would be allowed visitors in the same capacity as you. His constitution was still weak, but his body and mind was strong, leaving all those attending to him confident of his recovery. Disappointed but understanding, you allow yourself to be led to the carriage by the driver. A young man by the name of Albert held you steady as you climbed up the narrow steps with extreme trepidation. Bundled to the chin in black swaths of wool and cotton, you situated yourself till comfortable in the corner. After the young driver popped out and closed the carriage door, you were shrouded in a sheet of black. Now released from the hospital, you entered the traditional period of mourning. All the mirrors in your estate were to be covered with cloth and most of your clothes dyed a deep inky black. For the next several months it would be expected of you to don black at all times, given the death of your fiancé. Darkly you wondered if the circumstances would still apply had your betrothed been outed to the public to be a killer.
The next few days became a blur of appointments and meetings with various craftsmen, clothing makers, and interior designers. Given that your entire wardrobe had been burnt to a crisp, it was essential to get a new complete closet to replace the dated gowns that still lived in your childhood room. At one point, after a long evening of sampling the several dessert courses the new chef had prepped for your approval, you had wandered back to your spacious room to collapse upon the pink down comforter. Breathing out a deep sigh, you wiggle your toes to drop the house shoes to the floor as your feet still hang right off the edge. Face to the mattress, you inhale the freshly washed scent of lavender and soap and try to enjoy the brief moment of silence before you have to return to the drawing room and review carpet samples with Percy.
You feel the prickle of a cool wind along your thighs, and through the mess of your curls you turn your head to see the window slightly cracked. Annoyed and confused you rise from the soft bed and stomp to the offending window, and reach for the lock to close it shut. Delicately, and deliberately there was a dried, pressed crimson geranium slipped between the lock and the window pane. A chill runs through you, and suddenly you feel the crown of your head and the tip of your ears grow hot. You snatched the flower and a sickening feeling of familiarity settles deep in your belly.
This was just some sick maid’s joke, or perhaps one of the childish stableboys' attempts at teasing. That’s what you tried to rationalize, to dissuade the building feeling of panic that bubbled under your brow. What your mind did not acknowledge, your heart knew. You knew that you had pressed that flower a few months prior, and had mailed it off to your late betrothed, sealed with a kiss and a puff of your perfume. You knew that rationally, a cunning maid or a careless stablehand wouldn’t have the knowledge of something so intimate. You knew that Dio Brando, your betrothed, was dead and buried in the rubble of the Joestar mansion.
But as you tossed the flower in the roaring flames of the fireplace in your bedroom, you could not stop the panic from flipping and sliding around you.
The next few days pass without issue, and you forget the whole ordeal while deeply immersed in hammering out your plans. That day had been particularly stressful, meeting with both the lawyer and accountant to review the wills and request a monthly stipend from the trust until more logistics were sorted out. While it was approved, it is not as generous as you had hoped for but still better than what you had planned. A small win in the growing failures that you had collected this past week. When repairing a small hole in the roof, the craftsman had noticed rot had taken root and began to spread throughout several structural beams. The furniture that was supposed to be securely stored has several families of mice burrowed in their stuffing, and had to be reupholstered immediately, and that was just naming the few things that had cropped up in the last 24 hours. You slept restlessly, and dreamed of blond men and wicked laughter. To your horror, Mary, the maid who you had grown most fond of, had found you wandering in the kitchens in the dead of night. Before she had shaken you awake, she told you that you had been mumbling something about Windknight’s Lot. Dazed, and still in the grasp of sleep you had let her guide you back to your warm bed before collapsing back into a fitful sleep.
Two nights before Jonathan and Erina would be welcomed into your home, the most pressing details had seemed to sort themselves out. Like clockwork, the house staff had settled into their roles and performed them flawlessly, leaving your job of micromanaging nearly void. However despite the veneer of relaxation you wore, you were sleeping poorly and having more vivid and terrible dreams. Often you woke in the dead of night soaked in sweat and feeling tears wet your cheeks, the terror of the dream gone with the first few blinks of wakefulness. While the details had left you, the feeling of unease remained deeply entrenched. And while you swore every night you had closed the heavy curtains to help insulate the large room, you woke in your fits to see them wide open, drenching the room in a bath of moonlight.
This particular night you had continued to toss, resting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Feeling yourself begin to drift off, you are sucked back to the surface as you hear the tiniest ‘clink’ against the glass of your window. For a moment your head runs wild, thumbing through all the terrible things that could be sneaking in before you remind yourself that you are two stories up and the grounds are routinely walked at all hours. Again, you let yourself drift off, listening to the rational parts of yourself and not the part convinced that you were about to be eaten by a terrible monster.
A creak from the window renders your heart silent and you jump up from the bed, grasping your covers to your chest. The deep red curtains were ripped to the side, and the window pane slightly cracked and swinging slowly back and forth with the cool breeze that floated in. It took a moment for your eyes to fully adjust in the dark, picking up no unfamiliar outlines before you padded over to close the window. The lock was faulty, you reasoned. That was the most likely answer, not whatever fantastical, terrible thing that your mind was weaving in the wee hours of the morning. Closing the curtains once more, you hobble over to the fireplace and warm your cold fingers and toes in the dying embers before hopping back into bed. You made a mental note for yourself before snuggling back into the covers and drifting to sleep. You would have the locksmith come inspect the windows in your room, perhaps making something a bit more secure with the high winds.
What you hadn’t noticed was the figure lurking to just the right of your bedside, shrouded by the dark velvet canopy and inky shadows. When Dio had heard the beating of your heart settle into the gentle rhythm of sleep, he moved from his hiding spot to place a single, thornless rose on your bedside. Consumed with desire and impulse, the towering vampire marveled at the delicate structure of your neck, and the decolletage that goaded him into indulgence. No, he could not submit to his more carnal desires yet. He had a plan for you, a wedding that bound you and your maidenhead to him. A plan, a desire, a purpose designed perfectly for you, a spot in his life that he had carved specifically for you to fill. Willing or not, you would serve him beautifully.
Cannibalism as a form of love, you let yourself be consumed by your betrothed.
Does surrender always taste this bittersweet?
Phantom Blood!Dio x Betrothed!Reader
chapter two: crushing
Uncharacteristic to his presented nature, Dio kept his word and began sending you letters when he returned back to school that fall. In his perfect, grandiose writing he detailed his studies, the running rivalries between the dormitories, and what you found most endearing, were the poignant lines in the books he read. While his taste was eclectic, you noticed the blond was quite partial to historical novels, ones that detailed great wars and struggles of power throughout time.
While it did pain you to stop sending letters to Jonathan and avoid polite conversation, Dio had occupied the majority of your summer that when both of them returned back to the academy, it left you only longing for your betrothed's affection. He had swooned you with fantastic water gardens, with riverside picnics, and painfully expensive gifts. You had leaned wholeheartedly into this domestic bliss, often seeking him out in the Joestar estate to engage in playful banter before he retreated back to his room. You longed to follow, but given the structures of decency you simply shuffled back to your own, or meandered out in the gardens until dinner pressing the late summer flowers into your journal.
That fall you had come to treasure these long, detailed letters and responded back to him with eagerness. You detailed the gossip that you overheard from the manor staff, like a certain high-standing baron knocking up a house maid or the young freshly married woman with an affliction for opium dens, peppering in your own running conspiracies on what drama occurred behind the doors of different estates. In each letter though, you had stolen a masterful little tidbit from the women’s magazine that advised courting ladies to spray a bit of your preferred perfume on your intended audience’s gifts or letters. The flirtatious escapade excited you, and along with your puff of fragrance settling on the dried swirls of ink, you folded one of the many flowers you stashed away pressed between heavy journals, into the envelope. The mystery of love had sent you floating, skipping from room to room with giddy excitement whenever a letter from your betrothed came.
So it had given you great surprise when you were situated in the sitting room just adjacent to the welcome parlor, you heard the very distinctive voice of your fiancé speaking in muffled tones to the house staff. For a moment you consider your ears deceiving you, rising from the emerald and mahogany wingback settee, and picking up the front of your crimson house dress and striding quickly in your black heels to the foyer.
It was there you were met with the towering frame of Dio Brando, slugging off his outer cloak and tossing it into the arms of the attending house hand. In the last couple months he had let his hair grow longer, sporting a more romantic-era inspired look than the traditional clean uniform style of the time. You preened like an exotic bird, trying to still the fluttering of your heart as you nervously pushed back any haphazard curls that had flopped out of your thoughtless updo. However any attempts to calm yourself were shattered, destroyed when he faced you with that heavenly visage, his porcelain skin and soft lips, his greek-esque nose that made him look like a divine creature carved from marble, blessed with beauty and life. A walking testament to demi-gods, Dio seemed to shine like a thousand suns, drawing and dulling the very color around him to emit a radiating glow that you could not help but bask in.
And it could only be superseded when he smiled, and smiled solely for you. Something so precious and rare you longed to please him in ways only your biology knew. He glides over to you, still wet from the drizzling rain and rests his still gloved hands along the soft flesh of your upper arms. “How delightful that my fianceé has come to greet me, even in the event of a surprise. Tell me my beloved, do you often wait at the door for my return? I do quite enjoy thinking of you as my little pet that is restless until I return home.”
You blush hotly and deeply, feeling it color the soft plane of your exposed decolletage, and rest your soft palms on the curve of each forearm. “I-I didn’t expect you to come home so soon! While I can not deny my enthusiasm, I do find it odd that you are back right in the middle of your mid-season exams.”
“Unfortunately, my little pet, Sir Joestar has fallen ill and I have returned to his side to assist him. Please, I warn you, keep this information between us as it was revealed to me in confidence.” He takes a single loose curl, the one piece that had evaded your dutiful scrutiny, and tucked it back behind your ear before releasing you to stalk past to the long curled stairway.
“---But Jonathan! Why has he not returned as well?” At the mention of his adopted brother’s name, Dio turned to face you, and his height alone towering you but the added steps engulfed you in his looming shadow. For a moment you can almost taste the malice in the air, his rage radiating like a hot gust of summer wind and you merely a spring blossom wilting in its ambiance. It is here you capture the Dio from the spring before, his angular beauty and captivating allure all expertly threaded together in terrifying glory and rage. A serpent in the grass, he steps heavily down the steps to rejoin you as you begin to regret mentioning the youngest Joestar. His crimson eyes sweep the foyer, the attendant who had gathered his cloak now gone in the labyrinth of the mansion, leaving you two alone in the echo of the foyer.
“How truly observant of my young bride.” The blond speaks through gritted teeth, his mirth and annoyance displayed plainly as your anxiety, “--- Did you think my warning was for nothing? Jonathan is incapable of handling these matters, he is simply too childish and I, Dio, as the adopted child of the Joestar family intend to succeed in areas where he so disastrously fails.”
You remain rooted to your spot on the floor as he stalks forward and snatches your wrist and hand in his long, elegant grip, “You know how the house staff love to gossip, correct? Once Joestar’s business partners’ catch wind of his ailment, they will strike while the iron is hot and deplete him of all his tireless work. What good will it be for Jonathan if the death of his father leaves him destitute, don’t you agree?” His hand tightens, crushing your fingers together as he leans in with the fervor of a madman. You find yourself nodding along, your own eyes dipping down to the clasped hands as you try to worm your bruising one away.
“Dio, please you are hurting me.” You whisper in desperation, his gloved hand instantly relaxes and you bring the sore appendage to your chest, soothing it with your other one.
“You are a smart girl, you must understand the circumstances, yes?” He signs, brushing offending blond hair from his view and looks down back at you. You nod in agreement, but a part of you can not decipher if he is referring to Jonathan or crushing your hand in his. “---You see, my pet, Jonathan, is not blessed in the same sense that I am with our bond. His future and destiny must be protected from himself, or dare I say, he may ruin it.”
Again you nod your head in agreement. Dio was smart, highly educated and well regarded in almost every social circle he dipped into, you couldn’t help but find logic in what he said and reserve yourself to the demure, submissive denotation as his soon to be wife. “Of course, I will not breathe a word of this to anyone else.”
Dio, satisfied with your response, climbed up to the stairs of the Joestar patriarch room and remained there for the entirety of the evening, not even coming down to join you for supper. You had also found it odd that George himself had not made an appearance, and internally you attributed it to the sickness that Dio warned you of. In your solitude, after dining in your bedroom alone, your mind wanders to the death of your father and how consumption ravaged his aging body with alarming acceleration. From the strong man that had lifted you as a child and even a young adult, to the frail mindless man that choked on the blood that sputtered from his lips with each heaving cough. You find your heart sore, open and weeping at the impending tragedy that seemed to be unfolding under your caretaker’s home.
Two weeks later, Jonathan returned home in a flurry of emotions and accusations hot on his breath. In that time, Dio had largely returned to his habit of avoiding you, preferring to stay close to George who had begun to frequent the outside of his room less and less. You peripherally felt the tension between the warring brothers, whispers from the maids that Jonathan was convinced of foul play peppered in with the accusation of Dio poisoning the patriarch. While you felt them unfounded, a nagging voice that bloomed in the corner of your mind linked all of your fiancé's strange and violent habits, and his affinity for bending the truth, and made it hard to completely push from your thoughts.
One evening after retiring from the study, a cacophony of shouts piqued your ears and you rushed to the corridor to see the two locked in a standstill, both letting out heaving breaths with raw fury painted across their faces. Without another word, Jonathan stormed out passing your alcove leaving Dio still rooted with his now unreadable expression. For a moment you remain still, hidden in the shadow of the crystal chandelier, and only when you start to move does the slam of the massive front doors shock you back into your corner. With your head turned, you did not see Dio creep by your side and are almost knocked into the plush carpet from the collision with his tall solid body.
“Sneaking around? Did you see anything interesting, hmm?” He leans into you, and despite the mock teasing you can still see the vein popping underneath his collar, and another subtly pulsing close to his hairline, his anger just simmering under the surface.
“What happened between you two?” You frown, you feel pulled between two ends however you know your loyalties should lie with Dio… and yet that nagging, annoying voice told you otherwise.
“Jonathan,” He waved his hand dismissively, pacing in front of you, “ Jonathan is a petulant child, a whining fool who can not accept being usurped by someone of my ilk.”
Your brow knits together in confusion, while you know the two had had their issues in the past, never did you imagine unfurling in this manner, “I don’t understand Dio, what happened? Why were you two yelling at each other?”
“Nothing you should concern yourself with. Trust that these matters will be dealt with appropriately. Tonight you should just concern yourself with dressing in something nice for dinner as I will be joining you this evening.”
“But--” You try to protest.
“Ah,” He wags a finger at you in warning, “Tomorrow I will be leaving at first light. Come now, my pet, let’s not dwell on the dreadful details of the evening. I would much rather have you indulge me in the happenings of your day.”
Reminiscent of his return, you find yourself nodding again in agreement and watch him saunter off to the library in the dwindling hours before supper.
That morning when you rose from your bed, your attending maid informed you that Dio had already left, in what you assumed was an attempt to bring Jonathan back from wherever he had hurried off to. A few days passed where you idly worked on a cross stitch pattern, and perused through the library for anything enticing to read. Most often you find yourself wandering towards Jonathan and Dio’s room, patiently waiting for either to return.
In that short time, good news of George’s beginning recovery began to flood the grounds, often sandwiched between the very astute observation of Jonathan and Dio’s prolonged absence. Writing mindlessly in your journal, your attention is turned away by the sound of voices in the main hall. The sun had begun to dip in the horizon, the last few dregs of sunshine staining the plaster walls of your room. Putting on a house coat to protect you from indecency in front of strangers, you rushed to the banister and caught the sight of several people gathered in the foyer, Jonathan most notable amongst them.
Next to the tall Joestar heir, was another ruggedly handsome individual with a shock of long blond hair and a unique top hat. Between those two, there was a sea of policemen, along with someone you recognized distantly as the constable. Gathering the front of your dress you hurried down the stairs, the sound of your steps causing Jonathan to turn your way in surprise.
“Jonathan! Has there been some sort of accident?” This is the first time you had spoken to him without the accompaniment of your betrothed, all promises made forgotten in the chaos of the antechamber.
“(Y/N), has Dio returned?” His face is set in deep determination, and he looks down at you with such fierceness you didn’t think the man was capable of.
“No, I thought he left looking for you. What’s going on, is he alright?” Your hand grips the railing, chest tight with fear of the worst.
He takes the stairs two to meet you, placing his large hand on the soft of your shoulder, “Please, for your safety return to your room. I do not want you to witness something so… terrible.”
A flicker of annoyance sparks and buzzes in your palms, still gripping the banister and pushing against the gentle insistence of him, “ Jonathan , at least tell me what is going on before you shut me away from the excitement.” Even though you two had not spoken in what felt like months, you pleaded on familiarity, tilting your head to meet his shifted gaze.
Jonathan, ever the gentleman, sighs, before straightening his broad chest and looking you directly with something you could only place as grief, “Dio has been poisoning my father, (Y/N). I went to London in search of proof and when I returned with it, I also brought the police as well to apprehend him. I am so sorry---”
Whatever he said next was garbled, a roaring overtook your senses as you felt reality crashing down like the ceiling, crushing you under marble and memories of what you held to be true. You feel suddenly like this was a terrible dream, and like Alice, had fallen asleep under the large oak tree and had entered a completely different world, a sickening, horrifying parody of the life you had come to love. Looking over the crowd once more, mostly enraptured in their own dealings, you meet the eyes of the large blond man who had accompanied Jonathan at the bottom of the stairs.
A profound look of sorrow meets you, slipping his top hat off to give you a curt nod. This was it, it cuts through you, this is how people would look at you now. Silly, stupid, completely unaware of the toilings of your scheming betrothed. How the house staff had seen you float from room to room, oblivious to the danger that you wished sweet dreams to in every letter, and how those rumors would float from party to party, whispered behind fans and giggled about over cocktails. You had been so caught up in his approval you had missed the scalding mark he would leave on your reputation, and you felt burned . Hurt.
“---(Y/N), please, let me escort you back to your room. I can’t imagine---”
“--Please,” You cut him off, removing your bruising grip from the wood and raising it in surrender, “I will excuse myself. It is late and I will retire for the evening, and we can speak on this in the morning over breakfast.”
Relief flooded his features, and a reassuring smile tugs at his lips. “Yes, I will see you in the morning. Rest well.” Jonathan gave your shoulder a small squeeze, his hand dwarfing your shoulder in his firm, but always gentle grip. Jonathan always moved with an elegance uncharacteristic to his great proportions, and while you had seen his boyish antics growing up, he had grown into a handsome, considerate, and refined gentleman. Something that Erina had still pined over in her sporadic letters.
Jonathan returns to the parlor, conversing with the unnamed gentleman who now had returned his top hat. You gave the scene one last look, burning it into your very memory as something instinctual told you this would be important, monumental in time to come.
In your room you had become a woman possessed, the hysterics you had smothered from wandering eyes how now burst forth and you had flung ever tender letter from your desk, smashed your perfume against the wall, and pommeled your down pillows enough to be sitting in a cloud of slowly descending white feathers. You had tried to detail your rage, your fury and utter betrayal, and the hurt that leaked from your weeping heart, but nothing came. Only the smattering of tears that stained the page, and the few ink deep ink blots that had come from your fountain pen stabbing the innocent journal. After you had done it, you had become mournful, frustrated at your momentary outburst as now the other pages had been ruined from your tantrum.
The room smelled nauseatingly of white birch and honey, the offending perfume still a puddle in the corner, along with a noticeable stain on the soft blue wallpaper and sharp glass glittering under it.
Great, you thought to yourself, I am going to be smothered to death by the fumes.
Truthfully you had kept a sensitive ear out, running to your shut door to press against it for any shouts or signs of the adopted child, Dio, returning to the home in the midst of the brewing storm. This had seemed like the perfect excuse for you to break the barricade of your quarters, as the torrents of rain kept you from cracking open your window for the fresh breeze, and perhaps, from the prolonged silence the whole event had concluded unbeknownst to you.
Tip-toeing, you unlocked the carved mahogany door, and tip-toped into the hall. The peach house coat was still wrapped around you, the soft spring fabric doing nothing to dissuade the settling chill in the home. The lights were dim, only a few left nightly on shown in the halls, and noticeably the longest, deepest shadows came from the entrance where the group had gathered earlier. Very softly, you heard voices, however not at all distinct.
Tapping your foot in impatience, you wonder if you should sneak along the shadows and catch a glimpse, but the nagging voice of your governess in all her etiquettes reverberated in your mind. Dissuaded, you gave a huff and crossed your arms in admitted defeat before slipping back to the doorway of your bedroom.
It was then, when your back turned, gripping the cool handle of the door that you heard a shout pierce through the mansion. A cry of victory, mixed with heady laughter before the sound of what you thought akin to a hundred firecrackers shattered the ease you had slipped into. Confusion and fear gripped you, and instinctually you dropped to your knees in panic, pressing your palms against your ears to cover the piercing sound.
Thunder rolls in your ears, and lightning flashes against the home, illuminating the rolling staircases and the closed doors of the mansion’s vacant wing. For a moment it's quiet, and lured into a false sense of security you raise yourself from the floor, a cool sweat starting to accumulate at the base of your neck and roll down to the small of your back under the sheath gown.
To your horror, you hear the screams from the men below, some punctuated by the gurgling tones as if they were drowning at sea. Your heart jumps to your throat and you feel fear grasp you firmly, plunging your nervous system into flight.
You begin to run, blindly through the dark mansion only, bare feet hitting the wood floors as you feel your heart beat in your throat. You do not cry, you do not scream, you just let pure instinct guide you through the wing to the exit that led to the private gardens as the sounds of dying men bounce off the halls.
The mansion was set up in a ‘U” formation, therefore making it that all hallways lead to the main grandiose double staircase. In the past it had been delightful, the pure craftsmanship of the home designed to welcome guests had you running from your room to greet the Joestar residents whenever they returned. There would be a slight moment, when you would turn the corner to take the back staircase that led to the gardens, where you would be able to inadvertently catch a glimpse of the unfolding horror below.
And when you turned that corner, all you could see was red. Red, bright red that painted the entire room floor to ceiling, splatters of it in great sweeping patterns. In your panic you hadn’t noticed the unnerving quiet, and while you should have continued running, your feet root to the carpet below, as you drink in the scene of a massacre.
Body parts, flesh and bone all visible, each victim a crumpled, torn apart mess as they sluggishly bled to death. A horrible, wretched smell fills you, the smell of piss and desecration wafting up with the pungent, foreboding smell of copper. You could taste it, their death on your tongue as you covered your nose and turn away feeling your stomach roll like the waves. For a moment you feel faint and grip the wall, before swallowing the rising bile and pushing yourself forward, forward to safety, to something other than here.
A strong hand grabs your arm, and you jolt to meet a set of panicked, blue eyes. It’s a police officer, a young one at that, probably not much older than yourself. His cloudy blue eyes are filled with tears, and his round face covered in a mist of red, “Please miss, you must run for your life---”
The poor boy is interrupted by two long, slender hands shattering the back of his skull and erupting through his mouth, piercing through the soft underside of his tongue. Sharp, drenched red nails come to meet you at eye level, and distantly you hear someone scream. Before your mind could process the horror unfolding in front of you and dribbling onto your breast, the long fingers twist into a fist and pull to the side, each deadly hand flying in the opposite direction. The police officer's head rips apart and bursts like a ripe melon, leaving the twitching, decapitated body showering you in a deluge of arterial spray. Molars and fragments of gray tissue go flying, and in pure instinct you raise your hands to cover yourself from the onslaught. The fresh blood is hot on your body, drenching the night gown and robe you had changed into earlier, causing it to cling to your quivering frame.
You remain frozen for a moment, entranced into pure terror by the flood of blood that curls around your toes, feeling its heat warm the chill that had settled. When the body had flopped down, there had been a pair of feet behind it, still standing, waiting for you to notice it. A creature , a monster had done this, and now stood before you wearing a man’s skin, begging you to gaze upon its wretched face and greet death swiftly.
It was then, with your arms raised and chest heaving, you realized it had been you screaming the entire time. Silent now, the beast in front of you shifts and moves to step over the body when finally you meet the eyes of your fiance, drenched in the very blood he had just torn from his slaughtered victims.
“My, how unbecoming of me. I’ve made a mess of your lovely nightgown.” Dio Brando, or what wore your betrothed’s skin, stepped over the corpse with impending doom, a smooth sadistic smile painting his features like the devil himself.
His lovely hand, his lovely hand that you had dreamed of holding and kissing, of it sliding down your waist and along your thigh, dripped with crimson that rain in rivulets down each finger, falling steadily into the now silent night. You are rendered silent, still, like a beast of prey waiting for its predator to pounce, waiting to give in to the savagery if it meant freedom from this terrible man. You feel your lashes and your eyelids beginning to stick with each watery blink, the blood that sprayed on you from the police officer beginning to dry and crust even moments after.
“Though, my dear, I can not deny how much I enjoy this ravishing sight.” The devil smiles, and you see bright fangs shine back at you in the inky darkness, his eyes, like deadly rubies, cutting through the dark and piercing your thin veil of resolve.
Cannibalism as a form of love, you let yourself be consumed by your betrothed.
Does surrender always taste this bittersweet?
Phantom Blood!Dio x Betrothed!Reader
chapter one: come to me
It rained incessantly that spring of 1888, your mood soured with being cooped up for too long with just the company of the dedicated serving staff and the kind Joestar patriarch. That fall it rained in great buckets and left you cornered by the window, pricking your fingertips as your cross-stitch steadily came round.
This particular evening you were holed up in the library, two large candles burning beside you as the storm outside set flickers of light across the cavernous room. The desk was covered with papers, fashion journals specifically, and a few scattered books. On top of the stack was a letter, penned to Erina who still busily studied in India, detailed the very monotony that your life had become. While you wouldn’t dare vocalize your complaints to the man who very kindly arranged for your care taking, you still longed for a companion close in age. In Erina’s letter it detailed a saucy novel in which a woman is seduced by a dashing pirate, fleeing her marriage in light of temptation. While it did not detail anything explicit… the thoughts stirred in you as you continued to stitch away with your needle.
No matter how hard you tried to recenter your thoughts back onto the soft loops of the lavender heads, you felt a very shy, bashful part of your mind wander. Then suddenly, your heart beat faster as a sinful, dreadful thought burrowed it’s way into your mind's eye. For a moment you saw yourself, in the soft pink silk of your tea gown, pushed against the deep mahogany of the desk by a hard strong body, your cheek delicately caressed and sweet nothings, heavy with longing and tenderness rolled down your spine. When you flutter your eyes open, you are met with a softer, tender gaze of a lover, one that is conjured by the intricate illustrations of your fairy tale novels.
A roll of thunder breaks your concentration, sending the needle straight into the soft fat of your pointer finger. Blood gushes generously, blotting the light white fabric of your craft before you hurriedly throw it back on the desk. You feel shame color your cheeks, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes as your carelessness had cost you hours of meticulous focus. Ruined, ruined.
Sticking your finger in your mouth, you pluck the cross-stitch from the round table, spotting the deep red staining the soft yellows of the bees and the pinks of the sea thrift flowers. You feel your chest go hot, and before even realizing it, the wooden frame flies from your hand and smashes across the room, the clatter reverberating off the towering walls.
It was his fault anyways. He had ruined it.
Almost two years ago, your engagement was announced to the adopted child of the Joestar family, Dio Brando. Your father, a fast and close friend of George, had become ill with consumption and was withering by the day. Your mother had long since passed in childbirth along with your infant brother, and in the shadow of your 17th birthday there was a massive estate set to be your inheritance leaving you susceptible to trickery. Your father, ever the planner, could not bear to marry you off so young, to a boy that had yet to prove themselves and arranged a contract with the Joestar family.
That the adopted child, Dio Brando, would complete his education and pursue a career capable of supporting you, the demands of the estate, and its extensive investments and then, and only then would marriage grant him access to the trust. In the time that Dio had fallen under the Joestar tuliage, he had blossomed into an exceedingly blessed student, outpacing almost everyone in academics and sport alike. Your father, in his last good spring, had been convinced by a rugby game that George had invited him too. Where your father had seen rugged determination and striking confidence, you had seen sinister, narcissistic intentions. But like the good, subservient daughter you were, you nodded your head in agreement and swallowed your tears during your engagement dress fitting.
In the meantime, you two remained distantly engaged, him and Jonathan both attending school in London, and you confined to the Joestar estate in the rolling green hills of the countryside. While you did enjoy the quiet, a part of you longed for Jonathan to come home so you could at least be entertained by the boy-ish antics he and Dio embarked on at their boarding school. And even though your betrothed never regaled his escapades to you himself, a part of you longed for the striking blond to tell you.
Another part relished in the independence and distance he afforded you. After all, he had only treated you with coldness and apathy. On the evening after your father’s death, you and your attending governess, Meredith, were moved into the east wing of the Joestar estate. Your room was miles from the two boys, both tip-toeing on the edge of twenty. He had distantly regarded you, a shadow of a lean, tall man from the corner who looked over you with predatorial indifference. In this moment, you knew George’s intentions were to further protect your reputation and modesty, however you found yourself thankful for the separation in other ways. Meredith had moved away a few months later further isolating you, accepting marriage from a fisherman off the shores of Ireland.
Erina had warned you early on about Dio, recalling a sordid tale where he had forced himself upon her and basked in her misery. And while you did not see the tell-tale signs of his sadistic cruelty , you felt it like a dormant serpent in his gaze whenever the two of you happened to be alone. But much to your surprise, his cruelty was not limited to malevolent intimidations, but apathy as well.
The next evening during your father’s wake, draped in black silk and lace, you stood held by Meredith and Dio. Your face pale and shadowed by the soft black veil, the well of your tears long since dry after leaving the deathbed of your father. All that remained was a hollow feeling, the loud roaring in your ears, and the very warm hand of Dio radiating heat through his leather glove, bleeding into the dark wool of your overcoat. Despite the chill of the snow, you had never felt so hot.
From then your small efforts of affection were ignored, overturned, or brazenly rejected. Invites for walks were haughtily laughed at, your letters to him remained unresponded, and he never had accompanied you to a public event outside of your packed engagement soiree and your father’s luxurious wake. You wanted to be a good wife, dutiful and kind, you wanted to be a mother and raise his sons. This was your burden, the purpose driven into you from the moment of wakefulness. You desired his affection, carved yourself hollow for Dio to slip in and the blond man only regarded you in his cold, cruel manner that he seemed to reserve solely for you. Despite Erina’s past claims, Dio was received warmly and regarded as trustworthy, kind even by his peers.
In a fit of desperation, you had sought out advice from George Joestar who had lovingly reminded you that his adopted son was under immense pressure to succeed as the contract of your engagement remained largely in his hands. You had nodded in agreement, and outwardly resolved yourself to supporting him as much as possible, and the Joestar patriarch had commended your newfound outlook.
Inwardly, it had felt like a crushing blow. A startling reminder that it would always be your word against the cunning man, who had spent the last decade laying ground work for his perversions. The world viewed you as not even a full woman yet, still a silly girl in need of protection from her own kindness.
“---Brooding in the dark, are we?”
Speak of the devil .
Turning, you see your betrothed’s outline leaning against the door frame to the entry way, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable from the darkness that shrouded his features. Frowning, you take your finger from your mouth and grip the front of your gown, the tips of your toes beginning to tap against the pine floor with anticipation. “When did you get home? Jonathan told me in his letter he would be returning in three days time. I assumed you would be accompanying him.”
At the mention of the younger Joestar, the blond scoffed and pushed himself off the door frame stalking over to you. “Jonathan, my dear brother, and I are not conjoined at the hip. My business is mine alone. Besides,” A long, deadly elegant hand rips the chair across from you back, the sudden scrap of wood against the floor jolting you. “---I cannot have my lovely fiancée speaking more to my brother than her fiancé, so consider this my first ask of you. You shall stop communicating with Jonathan immediately, all your visitations must be supervised by me, and only me.” He plops down next to you, grinning that smug, horrible grin of his like he didn’t come in like a storm, uprooting your few joys with the casual flick of his hand.
You openly gawk at him, arms crossing over your chest as your face begins to heat up. Not a single sentence can be strung together, you are thoroughly stunned at this proclamation, and the only thing you can think of is the half year in which he ignored you, and if he could stop you before you rammed the needle in his throat.
“I can tell you are confused, no matter, let me explain my beautiful fiancée, ” Dio is grinning at you like a wolf with a fatten calf, leaning in with his terrible enrapturing beauty and stealing your limp hand in his burning two. He smells of sweet cologne, and very faintly you swear, roses , and you're close enough to see your terrible, cruel fiancé’s symmetrical moles lined neatly along his earlobe.
“I only have your dignity in mind, I cannot have rumors running about that my soon to be wife is already committing adulterous acts. I only have what’s best in mind for you, for us .”
That hit you like a wall, washing over you from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You felt an odd, distant tingling in your spine and a fluttering of rage in your chest. “Since when have you been so overtly concerned with my reputation?” You snatch your hand away from him, suddenly remembering your agency and recline back. “I think I much prefer your apathy to your misplaced concern.” The venom that jumps from you is surprising, something that was only nurtured and encouraged by Dio’s quick blows back.
“Misplaced? Oh, no,” He laughs, so beautiful that if he wasn’t so painfully arrogant you would have made it your mission to goad it out of him. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand considering ,” He gestures to the fashion magazines on the table, still chuckling like he was reprimanding a child for something so painfully obvious, “---the drivel you fill your soft head with.”
You feel hot, like a kettle on a stop ready to boil over, and after you jump to standing you begin to gather your items with fierce aggression, “You ignored me for almost a year, left my letters unreplied and now expect that you have some hand in my social life? You are either painfully arrogant or painfully stupid, Dio Brando.” You go to grab Erina’s letter, his hand snatching your wrist from across the table. Dio’s deep red eyes burn into you, and still he wears that gloating smirk although now you begin to see a vein popping from underneath his white collar.
You smile, before continuing, “---And I am beginning to believe that you are a little of both.”
Dio’s expression wavers, his grin flickering, then sinking into something more gritted, more animal. You knew your blow hit, questioning his intelligence and defying his command, that your fingers sunk under his skin and ripped out his blind fury. For a moment the mask of a well groomed gentleman slips to something unrecognizable, and before you can really see what laid under his porcelain skin Dio snapped back to his gloating grin.
“ See , my beloved? Is this not a prime example of your adulterous inclinations?” In his ambush you had forgotten the contents of your friend’s letter, and that briefly held triumph came crashing to the floor leaving your mouth dry and heart racing.
“T-That.. That has nothing to do--! DIO! How dare you read my private correspondence!” The blond finally releases your wrist, expertly snatching the letter from your reach and rising to stand. When you make a futile jump at it, it only makes Dio laugh louder and raise it above your head. He towered over you, and you saw no other good reason to jump for it other than appealing to his sadistic nature of making you beg.
Instead you sit back down. You feel flayed open, embarrassed, and confused at his sudden ambush.
“Good girl. Now, before you insulted my intelligence I actually came here with the intention of apologizing for my distant nature. But seeing how I am ill-received at the moment, I will take myself elsewhere, perhaps where someone will appreciate it more.”
Again you are stunned, “What do you mean? This was an attempt at apologizing? You’re doing a terrible job.”
Dio, still standing, frowns lightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the next before pacing and turning his back to you, while he faces the window looking out into the distance. “Yes, perhaps . Or perhaps you just don’t appreciate my attempt enough.”
You scowl at his back, seeing his eyes boring at you in the reflection of the dark glass, “You have yet to actually apologize for anything. I am eager to hear this attempt, fiancé .”
“No, no, I am correct when I say you don’t appreciate it.” Dio suddenly turns to you, his face glowed with an angelic sheen of vengeance. His arms open, fingers splayed he walked quickly back to your chair and before you could take a single step the devilish blond caged you back in, his arms on either side pinning you. Heat radiates from your chest, and suddenly you feel delirious from the closeness, never being this close to anyone, yet alone a man, in your entire life. You smell his mania, his sweat, his rage, his passion, and underlying it all you taste something hypnotic and ravenous.
“---You think of nothing but yourself, you selfish woman . Have you thought about the impact your flirtatious escapades will have on my own social standing? A man, cowed , by his own wife would make a terribly wonderful lawyer, don’t you think, my love? Did you stop for a moment and consider that your actions could very well affect our engagement? No? What a pity.” The venom rolls off every word, enough to prick tears in your eyes and you can do nothing but quiver in his predatory gaze. Even in your panic, a very small part of you cannot help but notice the thick of his hands, the expanse of Dio’s tall firm body, and his beautiful features even still lovely when twisted with rage. “---I have thought about it, and I have made a decision for the better of our relationship.”
He sighs, reading your terrified and miserable expression before continuing, “I can acknowledge the power that I am able to access through you, the prestige that comes with your estate, however your father has decided to make these painfully annoying obstacles and I grow tired of them.” Dio releases his hands from the sides of the chair, still defiantly towering over you as you hang your head in his shadow, flickering from candlelight.
“Even your attempts at kindness end up cruel. I doubt this would be the life my father imagined for me if he was still here.” You cannot say it while looking at him, instead it is spoken to the folding of your hands that were twisted in the soft peach silk of your gown.
You hear him scoff, and if you had the heart to look up you would have caught the brief flash of reconsideration before he knelt before you on one knee, ripping your hand away from the pools of silk in your lap, “I have denied you my affection, and for now on I will do so no longer. The truly difficult part of my studies have concluded, and now I can dedicate some time to planning our wedding.” Dio purrs this close to your ear, curling a long finger and pushing back the curls of your hair so you feel his hot breath against your neck.
Something new, a spark trembles in your chest and the tears that ran freely just moments ago roll to a stop. He stays there, deeply inhaling your scent before exhaling a chuckle, and it's then you realize from the growing blush on your chest that he had been looking down the cleavage of your gown.
“---Dio, you brute!” You push him away, secretly relishing the feel of his defined chest under your hands. The blond gives you a bemused look, before once again standing and playfully avoiding your lame attempts at knocking him over. The threatening air in the library had now dissipated, you coming back to the table to gather your items. Dio, now standing near the door simply watched you with his crimson eyes and his cunning smile.
“I am being serious though, about Jonathan.” His voice breaks the silence, and in the dwindling light from the candles you see the shine from his eyes cut straight through you
“Hmm?” You play dumb, hopefully to write the whole thing off as a silly joke rather than accept the sinister reality.
“That you are to end correspondence with him immediately, and he may not accompany you alone.”
“Dio, that is ridiculous, he lives here. The Joestars have graciously opened their h---”
“Mr. Joestar agrees with me. I talked with him before coming to speak with you. I knew you would object in some manner.” Dio waives his hand, almost to dismiss you and again you feel the pull of something awful curling in your belly, a foreboding warning to what lay ahead.
Ignoring Jonathan in his own home, that was too far! But the worst part is his own father recommended it. While there was nothing scandalous in your frequent letters, a part of you longed so desperately for any affection that if he had offered you would have folded into his arms. It felt stupid, in hindsight, and you found yourself desperately wishing that Jonathan had impressed your father in some outstanding way instead of your dark prince, Dio Brando.
“When do you graduate?” You still cannot face him, preferring to collect the papers agonizingly slow, as Dio seemed poised to escort you back to your room now that the candles had burned into a puddle.
“My studies will be concluded in the next spring. Why do you ask?”
“When that happens, can we move then?” You look up tentatively, everything now folded into your arms as they cross over your chest.
“Eager to leave are we? Where to?”
“--- Oh , I hadn’t considered anywhere else, I just assumed we would move into the estate once our marriage was finalized.”
As you walk to meet him, you feel something akin to fondness painted on his features but it felt uncanny on him, like the action repulsed his very nature. “I will make you one promise, little dove. That when I have conquered my destiny and the world is mine, I will show you every beautiful thing in it.” In the moment you had swooned, your face flushing a deep red before leading the way back to your bedroom.
But in the years to come, his promise came to haunt you in the most vivid of your night terrors.
author's note:
hi. this work is posted in its entirety to AO3 and there is a playlist
also! I put reader in this
another gift for my dear friend amy <333 check out their writing on ao3!
their tumblr blog @fiend01 <333
here's also a link to their most recent fic masterpiece with kishibe x pain fiend on tumblr... trust me you'll love it if you like my works!
Having siblings is no joke. Especially sisters. They are hard to please and difficult to control. Getting along is even more difficult when everyone has different views on life. By that logic, having any power over your siblings should be impossible but as the youngest, you are the beloved little sister.
You clutch on to your big sister’s arm, pointing at the bakery. “There! This is the place!”
Makima lets you drag her into the small bakery and watches you pick out more pastries than you can eat.
“These are soooo delicious! I’ll eat them all, pleasee!” She smiles blankly at you, watching you give her the puppy eyes. She doesn’t say anything as she pays.
“Thank you,” you smile, kissing her on the cheek. “You’re the best.”
“Anything for my little sister,” she says, admiration spilling from her lips. You are too cute for your own good. You are also a weakness. Something she will have to sacrifice one day. However, she wonders if she would hesitate. You will be reborn in hell regardless but she is unsure if you will return as the same sweet little sister as now.
She can barely control herself as you munch on the snacks in the car. The divider is raised as soon as you hold a piece of salted bread up to her face. “Try it,” you say, pressing the bread against her lips. She opens her mouth to take a bite and you watch closely with a grin on your face. As she chews, your lips part. “You have some crumbs there,” you say, pointing at her lips.
“Can you get it for me?” she asks, leaning closer with a soft smile on her face.
You put a hand on her shoulder to balance yourself and lift your head to lick off the tiny crumb off her bottom lip. Like nothing happened, you make a move to sit back down while your big sister is suffering. How dare you?
You should be punished.
She places her hand on your knee; it’s a small but calculated move. It slides all the way up to your thigh and you’re finally paying attention, looking at her like you don’t know what got her like this. It’s you.
You put down the small paper bag on the seat and gulp, “What happened?” Your eyes flicker back and forth between her hand moving closer to your core and her eyes.
“Acting innocent won’t save you,” she says, placing her other hand on your chest to push you down and climb on top of you. Her hand rests on your clothes cunt, applying enough pressure to bring attention to the wetness that is pooling between your legs. “You’re always tempting your big sister.” The tips of her fingers hover over your clothed skin. Your heart is beating against your ribcage hard enough for you to think you may be sent to hell for teasing your big sis. Lifting your gaze, you look at her. She stares back at you blankly. It’s unfair how you can never tell what she’s thinking, even at a moment like this.
You almost let out a moan when her finger finally moves along your slit. Looking at her, you can’t help but admire her, she’s so perfectly crafted. Made to control, conquer. Connected by blood, you were born to be hers.
Her mouth is on your throat, she leaves a trail of kisses until she reaches your lips, one hand gropes your chest over the clothes, while the other slowly snakes inside your panties. Holding your breath, you kiss her back desperately to taste your sister.
Slender fingers press against your entrance before running them back up your clit, bringing your wetness up to rub sloppy circles around the nub with ease. You feel her tongue enter your mouth, she moves the soft muscle against yours to get a better taste of you and you grab tightly onto her clothes.
She shows no mercy, her fingers rub tight circles around your clit, her hand cups your breast like you’re a piece of meat and the way she kisses you makes you believe she considers you as something she can devour. Unlike humans, a devil eaten by another devil wouldn’t be entirely digested. You could be a part of her until the end of time if she decided to eat you.
The possibility of being even closer to your big sister has you moaning into the kiss and Makima smiles. She inserts two digits inside you and bites your lip until it draws blood. You mewl in response and melt under her as she sucks on your lip to drink your blood. Her fingers move faster, her thumb pressing against your clit and her two fingers thrusting into your pussy continuously.
The warmth pools in your belly and you try to stutter out a few words to tell her that you’re close but she knows. She kisses you harder, breathing into the kiss as the familiar blood stains both of your lips. Your head sinks deeper into the leather cushions as the pleasure takes over your body and the orgasm comes in a gigantic wave. You let out the cute noises she usually forces out of you with little to no resistance and hold onto your big sister tighter as you cum on her fingers.
Makima doesn’t stop until you’re a trembling mess. She pulls away from the kiss to watch the needy look on your face and only then is she finally satisfied. She removes her hand from your panties and brings the fingers soaked in your juices up to her lips and puts them in her mouth as she sits up.
You lie on the seat and try to catch your breath, thinking about how she will make you eat her cunt when you make it home. Putting a foot on your shoulder and grabbing your hair to guide you exactly where she needs you. You are unable to hide your dumb smile at the thought of her tugging at your hair as her head sinks deeper into the pillow when she cums.
“You make it hard to keep up a good image,” she says, glancing at you. Her beloved little sister, who makes her lose every bit of composure, causes nothing but trouble. “I may have to keep you locked up at home.”
“Buuuut you can’t do that!” You move to put your head in her lap and whine audibly, “Because then I can’t get any sweet treats with you, big sis. I’ll starve to death.”
She smiles down at you and places her hand to caress your face, “That’d help me stay away from you.”
You pout, “You’re so rude. I came here all the way back from hell to be with you and you want me to go back?”
“Not yet,” she says. “I haven’t had enough of you yet.”
You look up at her with an innocent look in your eyes, “You can have all of me forever, big sis.”
Caressing your cheek with her knuckles, she resists the urge to lean down to kiss you. “Is that a promise?”
Nodding, you can’t help leaning into her touch. “On one condition,” you whisper with a grin, holding up a finger to her face. “I want all the sweet treats humans have to offer and all the kisses you have to offer!”
Now, she can’t possibly resist kissing you. She leans down to press a kiss on your lips, “Anything for my little sister.”
warnings: DDDNE, noncon/dubcon, mindbreak, torture, needles etc.
18+ only. read w/ caution.
word count: 4.3k
gift for the lovely @ratmonky
Kishibe encounters the pain fiend.
You wake to the heady smell of mildew in the damp air, your eyes fluttering open as your head slumped uncomfortably to the side. You roll your head back, senses thick with cotton and try to blink away the pull of sleep only to find your shoulder suddenly uncomfortably cold and wet from the drool pooled there while you slept. Huffing, you struggle to move your body in some way before dread washes over you like an ocean tide, salt water staining your cheeks as fear grips you hard and fast.
Your body is tied to a chair and you are alone, stowed away in a damp basement clad in just your bra and panties with only the company of a single fan blowing in the corner and a fluorescent bulb flickering above. It is only then when your eyes adjust, you can see that not only are you bound to the chair with several, thick ropes, but also the glimmer of dozens of needles embedded deep into your flesh. Despite willing the carcass you had stolen and slipped into, to move, it could not, and only your head flopped lamely as the finality of the situation began to sink in. You cannot stop the panic as it flips inside you, slippery and fluid as you try to rationalize and think of an escape.
At some point you had slipped up, become too careless in your excruciating kills and drawn out emotional warfare. It had become your love letters, your signature as you drew up hysteria and despair that had started to plunge the nation into an affliction of fear. You feasted, you gorged, devouring their suffering in each pitiful gasp as you pulled it from them. Pain was a terribly feared thing, and thus made you a terribly powerful fiend. However, this body you had stolen was weak, on the verge of falling apart and giving whoever cornered you in this place an advantage at some point in your cloudy memory.
Cutting you from your panicked monologue, the heavy metal door creaks open and a flood of light obscures your kidnapper before shutting it with a loud, final thud.
“Hello pain fiend.”
“Hello devil hunter.” You grin sardonically at the tall man before you, biting your lip as you lean your head back.
Kishibe is a tall man, much larger than the corpse you had stolen and puppeted around and even from a few meter distance you can feel the warmth of his blood roll in gentle waves. He wears the standard uniform, a suit and tie with obsidian shoes, his gray trench coat spotted with damp spots of rainwater. He pulls a silver flask from his coat and takes a deep drink, before stowing it silently away.
You try to heave your chest against the binds, but find the body you inhabited still ignored your commands. Despite your effort and the sweat from struggling shining on your brow, you could not contain the soft moans that fell from your lips from every needle that sent pinpricks of pain radiating through to your toes and fingertips. Every little twitch, every gasp caused them to dig deeper into your flesh, sinking you lower and lower into the intensity of suffering.
“What is the meaning of this?” You hiss, throat tight holding back another groan as you bite your parched lips.
Cigarette in his mouth, he looks over you with no hint of emotion, the aura of indifference hitting you shamefully as you slowly stop struggling so harshly, rocking your body gently back in rhythmic motions.
At some point, you crossed the intersection between pain and pleasure and swerved towards the repetitive, building sensation. It warmed your gut and core, everything tingled with anticipation as you tried to catch your breath, each heaving gasp causing your stomach to flutter more. You lived for pain, served for it, consumed it, and devoured it like the fiend you are, a hair trigger between masochist and sadist, you tiptoed the line between the two rich in machiavellian torment.
He watches you for a moment, reveling in the nicotine before dropping the ruined end to the cement ground. Crushing it under his heel, he made his way to you, close enough you could feel the brush of his trousers against your oversensitive skin. You shudder at the sensation, glaring up at him haloed in the swinging fluorescent bulb as you try to swallow the pitiful moans that began to build in your throat.
“They say an old dog can’t learn new tricks but I wanted to try something.” Kishibe’s strong fingers grip your face and make you look up at him, and in his eyes you see nothing. That's when panic truly started to sink in.
“Keep your disgusting hands off me! You reek like alcohol and failure.” You violently shake your head, trying to release the tight, jaw breaking grip he had on your face. Drooling, and almost frothing at the mouth the sudden lubrication causes his grip to slightly slip and your teeth sink into his knuckles. Warm blood floods your mouth, coating your senses before he rips his hand away.
You laugh, rocking again into the building pleasure as you feel restored, revitalized from his blood that began to ooze throughout the failing body. Before you can get a word in, his fist connects with your cheekbone in blinding accuracy. The force of it is so tremendous, it knocks the chair off its legs, smashing the back of your head into the cold floor as you try to pierce through the white clouding your frantic, swirling vision as pain radiates to the pulp of your teeth.
Distantly you hear wood scrape against stone, and feel the world rotate as you are righted up again. Blood dribbles down your face and the back of your neck, you feel your hair beginning to matt against the back of your bleeding skull. All it does is make you laugh harder. Split between delusion and pain, you reveled in the misery and pleasure, licking and feasting even in your own impending demise.
“I don’t even know why I bother.” His other hand rubs his blood stained knuckles, gripping and cracking the fist before releasing. “Makima says you're intelligent, you’ll learn as we go.”
Your jaw clicks as you move it, trying to adjust to the damage and you lean your swollen, bleeding head against your cool, sweat soaked skin. Everything is vibrating, down to the marrow of your bones and it only drills you further into the madness of euphoria, rutting against with whatever friction you could get from your limp body against the wood of the chair.
“I know your name devil hunter,” you whine, grinning with a split, fat lip as a clot of blood pours from your face and falls to the floor, “Kishibeeeeee.” You draw it out playfully, tasting it on your tongue as it rolls off into the damp air.
Flexing his hand, he doesn’t even bother to address you, only coming near enough so his fingertips could brush the edges of the needles embedded into your nerves, rendering them painfully immobile. You shift your head down, trying to look into his eyes again but feel them roll back when pain rips through you like a hot searing knife, it causes your body to fold as much as it can, head rolling back and tongue panting as it begins to flood your core with hot pleasure. It leaks from you, in moans and gasps and small yelps as you ride the wave that sends your skin into flames.
Through the thrumming of your own heart in your ears, you hear water drip to the ground in a thick puddle, before seeing the blood-soaked needles gripped in Kishibe’s large fist, staining his hands and the floor. Lifting your eyes from the floor you see the mess in your lap, and realize he had pulled two symmetrical needles from the soft of your thighs. Slightly concealed by the pooling blood, you can see growing wetness between the apex of your thighs shine in the dull light.
“I was warned you might enjoy this.” As if pulling a knife from thin air, he walks behind you, slicing the rope bindings. Hope surges through you at his stupidity, at the blatant lust that drove him to think with the wrong head. You would kill him, swiftly and cruelly and feast on his delightfully miserable blood. You would hang his corpse in the front of the building, a trophy, a trinket for those other pesky devil hunters to find. You would-
Everything is still lifeless, arms dropping at your sides and torso slumped and starting to slide down the chair. Your legs collapse, knees touching as they fold in on themselves. As gravity drags you down, you whine pitifully, feeling the invasive touch of steel only drag deeper and deeper, stoking the warmth that begins to burn hot between your legs.
Coming to stand in front of you and knife no longer in hand, you shudder in his shadow, gnawing on the soft inside of your cheek to soothe the growing anxiety of what to come.
“Do you not feel talkative anymore?” Kishibe cocks his head, not breaking eye contact as he brings the flask to his lips and drinks the bitter liquor inside. In response you just breathe through your mouth and swallow the blood that flows to the back of your throat from your nose.
Nodding towards you, he continues, “Some of them are plugging your main arteries. I pull and you bleed out. So be careful how much you struggle.”
“What does the control devil want?” You inhale shakily before spitting at his feet, a mixture of blood and phlegm.
“Oh, this isn’t for her. This is for me. You're my practice dummy.”
“Wh-wha?” The reality of his words hit you as hard as his fist. You were not this feared terrible thing, but rather a victim of happenstance. There was no greater cause, no sacrifice or reason to endure this suffering. Just mindless and excruciating, a mere practice exercise for a devil hunter with several screws loose. You begin to cry, salty tears burning the open wounds in your face as your head rolls forward. Before you can slide to the floor, your limp body unable to hold itself up, Kishibe grabs you by the neck and pins you there, the rough material of his slacks pushing slowly between your thighs.
“You feel it all, don’t you?” When you don’t respond he shakes you roughly, and you let out a wet moan as you look into his dark eyes.
“How long does it take for someone to bleed out?” Again, his dark eyes inspect you, once again crushing your already busted jaw and shaking you roughly, “C’mon, you did something like this earlier? How long?”
When you don’t respond he pulls out another needle, this time from your forearm, letting it rip soft flesh over the exaggerated angle. You cry harder, guttural and overstimulated and begging for release. From torture, from pleasure, from this body, you did not know, but soft pleading whines begin to perfume the air, enfolding and dragging your captor into the delirium of pleasure.
You feel his free hand begin to tug at your panties, wet with your fluids, his hand letting your body shift down so they slide easier off your hips. You whine breathily, the cold air too much, his hands too hot on your soft flesh, too close and intimate for your hot, dripping center. Panties discarded, he allows his free hand to wander your chest and pulls the soft fabric of your bralette to the side, gently guiding over your erect nipples and flicking them lightly. You moan, so sweetly, soaked in blood and your own arousal that you try to lean into his touch, his forceful grip on your throat and his feather light brushes against your chest.
His hands are so rough it almost catches against your soft skin, before you watch his composure slowly fold and give a tight squeeze that sucks the air from your lungs. It was then he kissed you, smashing his lips against yours and devouring each muffled moan as his tongue invaded yours. Kishibe was going to eat everything good about you and leave the rest to rot, and for some reason this thought could not excite you more. You wanted it, wanted to be pushed to the brink of despair and shoved over.
There would be no greater pleasure for the pain fiend, to die in excruciating, brutal pain.
Releasing your jaw, he guides your face using your hair to rest against his growing bulge, and even hidden behind the layers of his clothes you can already feel your gut flipping in excitement from his girth. Kishibe rubs your bruised cheek once, twice against this crotch, grunting softly before letting you fall back against the chair.
Lost in the haze of pleasure, you watch his large body lean off you and begin to undo his belt and pull out his member that caused your cunt to involuntarily twitch. His large fingers barely close around it, pumping lewdly before a free hand dipped between your legs, flicking upward and brushing against your aching clit as he collected your moisture. Rubbing his cock with it, he took the hand that wasn’t soiled with your fluids and grabbed your throat with blinding speed, causing your whine to be cut off with a stuttering gasp.
“Be good.” His voice is low, and threatening, and maybe if the odds weren’t stacked against you, you would have toyed with the idea of misbehaving more. Kishibe’s hand leaves his cock, and slides down your leg to the soft underside of your knee, hiking the lifeless leg over his shoulder as your body begins to open for his ease. You groan, feeling exposed and flushed, feeling the anticipation of his entry inside you start to flutter and buck your hips shallowly.
His cockhead lays against your entrance, spooled in soft pubic curls that matted together with your own sticky, clear arousal. You smell him, and yourself, the stench of sex intermingling and wafting up only further causing you to huff mindlessly against him, trying to encourage that weight to pierce deep inside you.
Kishibe does not groan, does not stutter, does not falter with hesitation as he hooks your leg securely over his shoulder, and guides his hot member along your folds. He drags your liquid heat from your aching entrance, towards the front to bump against your lip. You sob, brokenly against his hand, trying to find some resistance, some grounding in this windstorm of yearning.
Strong-arming your body into submission, he enters you with blinding, sharp cruelty that sucks all the air from you and leaves you crying out. If words left your lips, you could not decipher them, only surrender yourself to the waves of overstimulation as you felt him rut inside you, pierce through your very core and defile your insides. He moves, slowly at first, releasing his cock once securely plunged deep in your cunt in favor of grasping your hooked leg, pushing it closer to your chest as your inner velvet walls vibrated with pleasure as he stroked himself faster and faster inside you.
“Kishibe,” you whine, your voice hot and breathy, “next time it's mine turn to play in your guts!” Mad giggles fall from your lips as you look at his strained expression pumping into your soaked cunt with ferocious vigor. Your laughter is cut short by the brute force of his hand hitting your cheek, your face burning with stinging, addictive pain as you loll your head back and grin wildly with bloodstained teeth. Before you can laugh again, Kishibe leans and almost crushes your jawbone in his large hands, making you meet his dark, dead eyes. He stills inside you, and something between a cry and a moan falls from your lips before a moment of silence passes. In the uncomfortable, thick room, all you can hear is your own panting and the white noise of the rotating fan.
Your lips are pursed and fat, bruised from his biting kiss and blow to the face from earlier that makes your nose still dribble with blood. Kishibe lets out a deep sigh, feeling you quiver and grip around his member from fear and syrupy arousal. His breath fans your features, and it feels almost intimate, almost like love as you will your hips to bump against his, grinding softly in quiet, bucking encouragement. With lidded eyes you do not drop his gaze, and huff vainly into his bruising grip before your tongue slips out and licks his rough skin, the delicate bridge between his thumb and palm.
Kishibe spits in your mouth. He tastes like liquor, like nicotine and suffering, like blood and pain folded into one and you cannot help the moan that rips through you, the deep unfurling that stutters your grinding hips in blinding, white heat. Your body bridges, folds as it wildly chases mad pleasure before staccatoing into limp aftershocks that twitched and cramped your lifeless fingers and toes.
You still feel him hard, pushing further and only violating your sex deeper as the older man regarded you with indifference. With his hand still gripping your face he pulls back, the free one roaming in his coat pocket before pulling out a box of cigarettes. With practiced ease, he pulls one loose with his teeth and deposits it back in the inner pocket of his coat, before retracting a lighter from the same side.
Smoke puffs around your features, causing your eyes to water from the acrid air while the devil hunter still views you with icy apathy.
“Fiend, there won’t be a next time.” Kishibe ashes his cigarette on your midriff, the hot ash causing you to squirm and whine uselessly against his crushing hand. Pleasure rocks your body, and you feel his massive girth twitch with need in your gripping, tight heat and you can only giggle frantically as the towering man takes another drag.
Straining against his grip, you try to shake your head, “It’s okay, ah, devil hunter, I’ll see you in hell.” You grin and laugh again, the joke and reality bubbling from you like your building orgasm, “Raping dead girl’s corpse, ah, who is the real devil?”
Kishibe says nothing, watching you laugh and giggle beneath as he takes one final drag of his cigarette, and then puts it out on your forehead. The smell of burning flesh and your muffled screams thickens the air of the confined room. Your body struggles as much as it could, but it cannot deny the way your cunt grips and massages his length, leaving you panting and moaning chasing another little death that broke your already deranged mind.
Without another thought, he drives into you, forcefully and madly causing you to grind the soft flesh of your pussy deliriously on the rough bite of Kishibe’s zipper. The hand on your face releases only to grip your throat and squeeze with lethal indifference, the other almost breaking your hipbone as Kishibe ragdolled your limp form.
His cock moulds you as he pounds mercilessly, conforming your dripping sex to submit as pleasure rocks through your sensitive center and furls tightly in your belly. A thick wetness runs down your legs and arms, pooling down the sides of your midriff and dripping to the floor, and with lidded eyes you see needles are pierced far past Kishibe’s initial mark, fully piercing muscle and tendon as blood gathers on the cement floor beneath you. You whimper pitifully as white begins to line your vision with each struggling, gasping breath.
Your limbs lay loosely at your sides, still numb to movement but twitching and alive with feeling as the pain and building pleasure causes your pussy to grip the devil hunter harder. With every punishing thrust you are moaning, wiggling, and using the dull sense of movement you had mustered in your hips to meet his bruising, forceful pace.
“Can you die like this fiend?”
In response all you can do is wail, each panting cry an octave higher as you feel the head his cock thrust to the top of your cervix. Your body bleeds and moans, it drips hot arousal like honey and milks Kishibe like this is your only purpose, a toy for him to experiment, to punish and break in ways he saw fit.
There is no fight left in you, between the hard, bruising pace of his cock reaching the deepest parts of your womanhood, and his hand crushing your windpipe, anything crafted in retribution fizzles out and submits to the clawing, abrasive tides of pain and pleasure as he fucks you like an animal.
Kishibe pauses only to flip over onto your belly, the needles on your front half ripping through sensitive flesh as you strangle out something between a scream and a cry. Tears come in buckets, your body uncontrollably shaking and convulsing as it bled profusely into the rough cement floor as you cum, twisting and bending to escape the blinding euphoria.
He doesn’t even give you a moment to catch your breath before you feel your hips lifted into the air, the heavy head of his cock coming to rest between your abused, puffy slicked lips before smacking vulgarly against your exposed ass. You groan pitifully, feeling your own wetness coat his thick cock and the growing chill between your legs from your cunt’s dripping excitement.
Your face and knees scrap against the floor, your upper body trying to lift itself against its dead nerves but still found no response from your limp appendages. The ground cuts and burns, your salty tears sting the fresh wounds as you cry uselessly, and feel Kishibe’s cock start to enter you.
His hands are like two hot irons on your hips, lifting your body halfway from the ground and fucking your sex without abandon. Kishibe held your limp form like it was weightless, and started to crush your cervix with the head of his cock, pulling out most of the way and brushing your g-spot before plowing back in your tight, pulsating cunt. You can do nothing but moan and squirm, feeling yourself wetting the front of his dark trousers from your frantic pleasure and savor every time his heavy balls slap your neglected clit.
“Every devil and fiend is the same.” Kishibe pauses inside you, releasing one hand and letting your body loosely sag on that side before taking his large, thick fingers into your mess of hair and snatching your entire body back. The crown of your head rests just below his cheek, the rough scar tickling your raw, bleeding forehead. “You all say you are going to kill me, but not one of you has been successful yet.”
You cum again, hot and tight as you gush fluids over his cock. Through your own wild, panting moans you feel his breath stutter against your neck, fanning the oversensitive skin with feathers of intimacy.
He begins to fuck you shallowly, your pointed toes scraping against the floor for purchase suddenly revitalized by the first sense of autonomy. “And when you know you are going to lose, you all say you will meet me in hell.”
Kishibe’s hand on your hip guides your body back onto his massive girth, using the fist in your hair to lift you up and down, helpless against his cruel pace.
“I’m going to tell you a secret, fiend.” Large fingers shift along your burning scalp, causing your head to turn and face his dark eyes.
“In this life, I will be your hell.”
In them you find no light, no mercy and against all odds you begin to hyperventilate. Signs of your impending doom are swift and icy as you feel the head of his cock painfully and slowly drag along your g-spot, pushing you promptly over the edge.
You cry, broken and whimpering as your sex clutches and milks his cock for the last time. Whatever motor functions you regain flex and convulse, and you struggle and grind against his firm, clothed body desperate for reprieve or release. Cum-drunk and lightheaded, you hear him moan deeply in your ear next to you, the first and only indication of pleasure the devil hunter showed you.
With lidded eyes, you feel his grip release your hip before suddenly your entire world shifts. You're being dropped, clattering to the floor and it is with slow, sickening realization as you hit the ground that your body is no longer attached to your head. Confusion, shock, anger, and something else flickers across your face, before you feel the pull of hell and rebirth begin to drag you from consciousness. The last thing you see of this world is Kishibe standing over you, a large bloodied knife in his hand and dick still wet from your pussy, as cold, indifferent eyes watch you fade from existence.
The devil hunter sighs and regards the corpse in front of him, legs splayed in a vulgar, crude way and your head rolling just a few inches from the blood spurting neck. Looking down, he can see white splotches of his own release staining the legs of his pants, and the large wet spot on his crotch from you grinding on him like a wild thing in heat. Wordless, he tucks his half-hard dick into his dark trousers, and lets his gaze wander back to your lifeless body once more. Nude, headless, bloody and filthy, he can see the glimmer of his own release shine across your chest.
He must have cum when he cut your head off.
Grabbing the flask from his inner coat pocket, he nurses it contemplatively as he considers your words from earlier. The stink of blood, death, nicotine, and sex weighs heavy in the air, and he wonders if you will think of him in hell.
Sighing, he tucks the flask back into his coat pocket and exits through the heavy metal door, leaving your body for some idiot from Public Safety to come clean up.
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