DIO Psychological Analysis + Relationship Headcanons

DIO Psychological Analysis + Relationship Headcanons

TW: Slightly NSFW

Dio Brando did not have a pleasant life. He was born in the more “underprivileged” parts of England, with insufficient money to keep him and his family at bay. To make matters worse, his father was a thief and an alcoholic who abused his wife and his son. Unfortunately, due to the conditions he was exposed to, Dio was affected in the worst ways possible; children who are abused adopt violent, aggressive, or criminal behavior or other behavioral problems, in addition to drug or alcohol abuse and high-risk sexual behavior. Despite Dio despising everything about his father, he mirrored a lot of his father’s foul behavior, even taking after his habit of drinking.

Dio’s hatred for his father is ignited by Dario’s abuse of his mother. During pregnancy, the bearer of the child shouldn’t be subjected to stressful events or a disorderly environment, and Dario Brando’s treatment was so horrid that poor Mrs. Brando lost her baby, Dio’s sibling. Dio was aware that his father was the reason that something like that happened, and while he watched his mother sob in misery at the loss of her child, he felt the hatred he had in his heart for his father to thrive, growing rapidly like moss in concrete cracks.

Simply hearing his father’s voice was enough to contort his face into a deep scowl, his eyebrows so furrowed that the crease between them remained permanent. Every single sign of his facial expression pointed towards hatred and disgust. He couldn’t believe that he shared blood with this individual.

Dio actually loved his mother; she was his safe haven while everyone else around him was a pack of ravenous wolves, ready to roll him in the dirt. The only redeeming quality about Dio is the fact that he loved his mother and cared for her; possibly the only humane thing he has ever done. The moment Dio’s mother passed on, he set it as a goal that he will blow out the candlelight of his sad excuse of a father’s soul, and proudly so.

“Devil that you were, you drove mother to an early grave. I’m glad you’re dead, may you burn for your sins. The riches that eluded your grasp? I will claim them in excess. You lacked the cunning to take what you wanted, but I’ll prevail! This Joestar shall be the key! Now burn!”

After being a doormat all his life, Dio was sick of submission. He didn’t crave equality, he wanted to ascend above everybody else; he wanted to be superior. Just equality wasn’t enough. Dio is a brat; if he wants something, he will get it. No matter what. He is ready to do anything to achieve his goals and make himself proud. Dio’s most identifiable characteristics are his unlimited ambition and his desire and love of power. He consistently scheming and aggressively domineering, and has recurrently shown a lack of ethics and empathy.

His smile is asymmetrical, a tell-tale sign for his arrogance and narcissism.

While addressing others, Dio points his index finger, figuratively beating the listener into submission.

Dio stands with his feet wide apart; a posture that displays dominance, telling you that he stands his ground. It’s used as a dominance signal by men because it highlights their genitals, giving them a gallant look. However, he sits with his legs crossed, indicating a feeling of confidence, superiority, and self-assurance.

Dio relishes being in a position of authority and has repeatedly stated how exhilarating it felt to be dominant. Dio never tolerated the idea of somebody surpassing his power or even being equal to him, and was infuriated and profoundly disturbed at the thought several times. If he were to court somebody, he would want them to shower him in praise and idolization. He would want them to know and believe it that he is better than them, that he has authority over them. It fills him with pride being the one in charge of everything that his partner does. He’ll tell you what to wear, how to do your makeup, when to reapply your lipstick – he’ll demand you to wear his favorite colors. With his power, you should expect a lot of frivolous gifts. Clothes custom made to your measurements; the finest satin and silk there is. He wants his pet to look their best, always.

He loves it when you worship Jonathan’s his body. Trail kisses from his neck all the way to his abdomen while he strokes your hair and coos out praise. Narcissistic as ever, he only ever refers to himself as Dio.

“You love Dio, your beloved master, don’t you, little one?”

“My, My… You look absolutely exquisite in the fabric that Dio has gotten you, my darling.”

He is extremely possessive of you. D’arby and Vanilla Ice are forbidden from ever touching you, and he’ll glare daggers at them if they stare for a prolonged period of time. One of the only human things he has done in the one-hundred years of being an immortal being is loving you. Possessively and intensely. Consider yourself extremely lucky that he has kept you alive for so long, as he only views women as objects for sex or food.

Just like when he was a young boy, Dio still has an affinity for reading, as he is found in the library of his mansion at times. He’ll keep you in his arms while he indulges in reading, but only if you caress and stroke his sides. He adores the contrast between your warm body and his cold, lifeless one.

He’ll firmly grip your thighs and slightly dig his nails into them. He loves marking you by scratching on your soft skin or leaving love bites where they can be seen by others. He likes to make the message very clear that you belong to him.

Dio displays his decent side to those who are good to him, so stay good to him. Stay submissive and never go against his word. He knows what’s best for you, and you should be well aware of his insight.

Often, he will ask you philosophical questions and humor himself in meaningful conversations with you. Of course, it’s partially because he wants to show you his educated and intellectual side; a testament that he is the scholar and you are the student. You report to him at all times. He feeds you with knowledge, and in return, you give him all that he expects from a good, obedient pet and follower – the worship he deserves.

He sports the fragrance of Egyptian musk – very pleasing, arousing warm, smoky notes with touches of dampened timber. Though, he is picky about the quality as cheap Egyptian musk tends to be rather pungent.

He frequently orders kindly asks you to light incense in your shared chamber.

Once you stroked his ear with the three beauty marks adorning it before kissing it and wrapping your plump lips around it, suckling gently. He lost control and ravaged you in bed. You weren’t able to walk for days or whimper anything besides his name.

Yandere!Ghostface

Warnings: NSFW A/N: Slashers are probably always going to be NSFW default unless asked for SFW or a mix because,,, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Ghostface realizes how perverse it is to be stalking you, to search around your place when you aren’t there- it’s all so twisted and he can feel guilt bubble in his throat but given his line of work, he also realizes what a hypocrite he is. He murders, goes around stalking victims and toys with them before their final demise and yet with you- he can’t help but feel shameful when he peeks at you changing into sleepwear.

You’re so sweet. Just the cutest, sweetest thing he has ever had the chance to see and he won’t ever harm you. You’re so sweet and oblivious. Walking around with a smile on your face and he’ll call, he’ll call and hear you say hello and he’s fisting his hand around his cock and jerking off to your voice- the filth of all it makes him whimper and thrust into his own hand, imagining yours. And then you have the audacity to ask what’s wrong and keep on the line for a few extra moments before hanging up.

He’s following you around, inching closer with each day, watching as you buy groceries, standing inches from you and he’s learning more and more about you. He’s figuring out your favorite scents, the detergent you use, the perfume that you buy and he’s placing it in his basement. He spritzes his pillows with your perfume, inhaling as his eyes water and he’s rocking his hips into it as he can hear you say “hello” when he calls.

He wants to have a regular conversation with you but it needs to be perfect. It’s weeks of planning it out, trying to figure out what you would say, writing scenario after scenario in his head, on paper, on a computer and growing angry when it just doesn’t sound like you. He’s following you, he should learn more about you, he should know who you are and yet, you still elude him.

It’s accidental. He bumps into you, heavy steps and a lean, muscular body that topples your much weaker on and he’s panicked, watching as you rub the side of your thigh and hurriedly grab at your things and he’s frozen in place. He can only watch as you mumble a sorry under your breath and walk away and he’s broken out of his stance and he’s chasing you, grabbing too roughly on your forearm and he’s spilling words, not waiting for your response, just talking and talking, and you give  him this sweet, pitiful look and you tell him its fine and your voice is just so smooth.

There’s only so much he can take. He longs for you, needs you to know who he is and he’s grabbing your phone and god, it fills his heart knowing that you don’t have a lock on it, and he’s giving you his number and he’s leaving without buying you anything. He’s busy with a victim when you message and he replies instantly, japping a nice into the calf of someone and typing with blood stained gloves.

He’s delusional. He thinks you love him. He knows that you do. He’s coming around more often, calling you through his cellular, talking to you and hearing you talk about your day, the hesitance laced into your words, the soft gasps when he laughs a bit too loud, the giggles that you give and he can’t help but laugh along with you, to drag his nails across his thigh, salivate in his mouth while he talks to you.

He continues to stalk you and he grows bolder. Nearing you, finding you in places he would never visit, offering to buy the stuff in your cart, walking you to your car. He’ll filter through your things when you aren’t home, grab at a pair of underwear and a shirt, smell your perfume and jerk off in your underwear. The longer it goes on, the riskier he gets. He’s hiding under bed, rising when you fall asleep, going above you body and wearing his mask as he nuzzles into you- pressing his crotch against yours, letting his hands wander through your body, pinching at your sweet bud, and feeling himself leak and he’s so close to inching his hand past the waistband of your underwear and see if you’re wet.

If you happen to wake up to his less-than-innocent nuzzling- he promised to himself that he won’t hurt you, but if you decide to scream, he has no choice but to cover your mouth and bring a knife out and trace it around your jaw and the thought of seeing you covered in blood, is enough for him to spill above you. He’s only there for his release but then he’s gone. He comes back often enough, that you know to lie there and let him hump against you.

He’ll continue to call, ask to meet up and see that you’re shaken, heavy bags under your eyes and you skin losing your shine and he places his hand above yours, ignoring how you flinch, and prodding you until you tell him what’s wrong and he’ll offer to protect you, to sleep in the same roof or have you move in with him- just for the time being and it’s so easy to drug you.

He wants you to know who he is so he lets you wander, has to lock his basement to start your curiosity, have you cry on his chest and make sure that you see him, let him do your laundry, fuck himself on your clothes and get this sick satisfaction when you wear the underwear that was stained with his seed. When you start to walk closer and closer, inching into the basement, that’s when he pulls out the mask and slips in after you and pushes you against the wall and he calls you a pet name and removes his mask.

Ghostface loves you. He won’t hurt you. He could never put a knife against you, but pets have to be trained and he’s sure that negative reinforcement works. You have no real say to it, you’re dependent on him, you’re learning and nodding along, letting his hands wander and thanking him when he lets you release.

Bonding with the Brando kids (excluding Giorno) feat. your boyfriend, DIO

You honestly didn’t know what to expect when Dio told you that he had kids, much less three of them. He didn’t wish to scare you off, and you certainly understand it: not every person would be open to a relationship with a single father. Despite that, you decide to reassure Brando and tell him you aren’t just going to run away from him. “Of course you aren’t,” he’d tell you smugly, laughing the confession off, but deep down, you know he appreciates it.

Since then, you are captivated with the idea of actually meeting the three. Dio showed you pictures of them that he carries around in his wallet (god forbid someone laughs at him for being overly sentimental, at least he’s being a good father and not the wreck that Dario was), and you already fell in love with the children from the stories he told you. Brando is still reluctant about you meeting them. It would involve a lot of coaxing until he agrees to invite you to his home for the weekend, reminding himself to make sure the boys are on their best behavior in front of you. Wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression.

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Ghostface/Reader - Haunted House

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings/Description: NSFW, Gender-neutral Reader, Mostly a flimsy excuse for horror smut, Explicit Language, Mirrors, Blood/gore mention, Dub-con, Fearplay, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Possessiveness, Yandere, Overstimulation, Penetration (receiving), Name Calling/Degradation, DBD Ghostboi

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The broom hits you in the chest with more force than necessary, and when you take it in hand you rub the sore spot it left behind while glaring quietly at your pissant of a boss.

He shoves a finger against your sternum, uncaring of the wince you let out in response, and huffs, “I better not see your sorry ass until the whole place is swept through twice, or I swear to god you’re fired. This is your very last chance.”

You want to roll your eyes, but you manage to keep yourself in check, “I’m sorry, Mr. Romano, I’m a little sick and I overslept-”

“Last chance,” he interrupts, eyes narrowing as he steps away, running a chubby hand through his thinning red hair, “Make sure you lock the place up before you leave. You can get your check after you return the keys.”

You frown at the back of his head as he retreats through the cornfield leading out to the first half of the attraction and the main staff lounge. You flip him off when he’s far enough, and make a few dumb faces while your at it. What a jerk. 

You sniff and rub your nose on your sleeve. God, you still can’t smell anything and your head is throbbing. You really shouldn’t even be out here. Yeah, you were late by a couple of hours, but it’s not like you wanted to get sick and leave your co-workers high and dry on one of the busiest weekends of the year.

Halloween is just around the corner, and in the scary attractions business, there’s really no better time to make money. And you really need the money.

With a sigh, you turn towards the haunted house and prepare for the worst.

It’s a two story building, and you have no idea how that asshole expects you to sweep it all by yourself on a normal day, let alone on the half-juiced battery you’re running on now, but you count your lucky stars that’s all he asked you to do instead of insisting on something dumber like resetting all the props, or whatever. At least with sweeping you can lie about it. Who’s really gonna know? The place is usually dark, anyway.

As you walk in, you’re immediately spooked by a Ghostface who set themselves up directly in front of the door, nearly blocking you from entering. You immediately assume it’s one of your co-workers trying to get you back for skipping out of them, and scoff quietly to yourself, “Ha-ha, very funny, dude…”

But of course, no one laughs, not even you.

Your co-worker tilts their head to the side, eyeing you casually, but before they can do so much as respond, you breeze past them with another wispy sigh. You don’t have time for stupid games. You just want to disappear in the back for a few hours and go home.

You don’t notice the way the Ghostface stares after you, or how their knife glints a little too brightly for a plastic prop.

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