Bonding With The Brando Kids (excluding Giorno) Feat. Your Boyfriend, DIO

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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Im sorry that I choose my favs with my pussy and not my moral compass. Wish I could be as boring as the rest of you

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.

The otherworld pt4

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Akdbxianxysisby MY HEART 🥺💓💓

Somewhere an article read that if Dio survived long enough to know about Giorno he would have killed his mother and step father and taken Gio in, may I please get a small scenario where Dio takes Gio home and a Gio is terrified Dio’s wife won’t like him but she (kind bubbly caring and motherly) immediately throws her arms open and cries “MY BABY BOY!” And won’t stop kissing his face and steals her attention away from Dio whom becomes a pouty baby please and thank you sweetheart!

[ Oh my god please little Gio.  Little Gio and reader as Dio’s wife?  Little Gio with a better childhood?  That is all.  Yes please. ]

Giorno Giovanna did not - or perhaps he could not - remember much of his early life.  The farthest back his mind could reach was to a dark, rainy evening, one where thunder had rumbled so loud it shook the ground as though an earthquake and lightning struck the ground in dizzying patches of heat, bolting down throughout all of Italy as the winds of the Mediterranean pushed the storm onwards, deeper into the country, growing a mile a minute.  He’d been trying to sleep.  With his favorite plush animal, he’d pulled the covers up over his head, trying his hardest not to let the rash sounds overwhelm him but trembling nonetheless, eyes wide open, seeing nothing but black save for the occasional illumination that sparked from the clouds.  Nobody had come to him.  Not his stepfather, nor even his own mother.  As for his real father...well, he’d never met the man.  At least, not until that night, when, as the storm picked up, violently thrashing rain against the windows with such strength it was a wonder they didn’t shatter to pieces, an unfamiliar voice had resounded softly within his ear.  

“You’re alright now, Giorno.”  It was deep, commanding, but with a strange twinge of care just barely noticeable.  As he was still under the covers, now completely and absolutely terrified, clutching at the fabric with desperate hands and wishing he was anywhere else but there, all he could tell was that the man had moved to his bedside by the sound of increasing footfalls.  “Nothing will hurt you.  Not while I, your father, am here.”

And thus began his new life.  His mother and father had gotten lost from work on the way home that night, but Dio - Giorno’s father - had finally returned.  Now he resided with his father in a spacious, expensive home, straight in the middle of a prosperous portion of Naples.  Through their years together, Giorno had learned that his father had been a wealthy lawyer in both England and Japan.  The profession still provided for him now, albeit Giorno rarely ever heard his father talk about his work.  The boy couldn’t ever catch a glimpse of the cases Dio was supposed to be arguing on the television.  But he had learned quickly that although his father did love him, he was even more strict, sometimes seeming domineering or occasionally outright mean with scolding, should his son find himself in places he wasn’t supposed to venture, or performing activities deemed punishable.  Giorno loved Dio.  But he would be lying if he said that he didn’t miss his mother.  So, when one day, his father began speaking of a woman and her captivating beauty, he naturally grew curious.  He asked, over and over, what the woman was like, how his father had met her, how she looked, what she liked, how well the two of them knew one another.  Over time the questions became more and more incessant, with each query resulting in nothing but commands or reprimands from his father.  But equally over time Dio was home less and less.  Sometimes, he would be gone for hours, or a day.  Often he would vanish at night, while Giorno was asleep, but often strayed well into the afternoon.  Giorno grew worried.  What if another storm happened, like the one that had caught his first family, and his father was lost, too?  Who would take care of him then?  This fear only tripled as days turned to weeks.  But finally, upon asking one day, gathering up the courage for a scolding, after managing to catch his father, he had asked where the man was going.

Something about Dio’s nature appeared to have changed, or at least been altered to some degree.  Giorno had always known his father as a logical and focused man, but as of late he had begun to forget things, or seemingly get lost in his own thoughts.  All that Dio replied with was a dismissive, “Go back inside,” before his voice softened and something like - was that a smile? - formed on his lips.  “I’ve a present for you tomorrow.  Don’t make me postpone it.” 

The next day, the two of them spent all cloudy afternoon and evening going shopping.  Giorno felt it was a rather odd present, but nevertheless enjoyed the times where he’d point out something he liked and his father would purchase it for him.  Perhaps these were the gifts?  He was content with the idea that they were as the both of them made their way back to the car, especially as his father let him ride shotgun, but shortly after the car was in action this idea was debunked. 

“[Y/n] is waiting for us at home.  She really wanted to meet you today, Giorno.  After all, she is your new mother.”

Giorno’s eyes flew open in shock.  [Y/n]?  As in, [y/n] [l/n], the woman that his father had always talked about?  That [y/n]?  A-and wait, did he just say she was his new mom?  Despite how hard he bit it back, the question escaped him.  “My - my mom?”

Dio nodded, eyes never leaving the road.  “She only found out about you yesterday, but she said she couldn’t go any longer without meeting you.”

“Go any longer with what?”

“Oh, I mustn’t have told you.  [Y/n] and I are engaged, Giorno.”  He paused for a minute as he saw his son’s jaw drop from the corner of his eye, theorizing the dynamic his beloved son would have with his beloved [y/n].  You’d always been very caring, a kind and intelligent woman who kept herself well put-together, sensible and levelheaded, but the way that your eyes had grown wide as moons albeit far more beautiful, the gasp of surprise escaping your wide-opened mouth, staring in shock at him, breathless for a moment before you’d thrown your arms around him, the greatest smile Dio had ever seen emerging on your face, voice stuck somewhere between absolute surprise and absolute joy, barely able to speak as you begged your heart out to meet the young boy that Dio had just now informed was his son.  In every sense, you were completely overwhelmed.  You would have a little boy running around the house now.  It wasn’t just you and Dio destined to live as a couple, but you, Dio, and Giorno, a true family, undoubtedly inseparably.  In truth Dio hadn’t told you much about his son beyond his name and bits and pieces of his personality.  But now, waiting patiently at your fiancé's house, you nervously touched up your makeup, eyes darting between your face and the door, a smile on your face and a lightness in your chest. Your heart was racing like never before.

So was Giorno’s.  He wasn’t sure if he was afraid or excited, fearful or grateful, anticipating or anxious.  You’d always sounded so nice whenever his father had spoken of you.  But Giorno had never met you.  He wasn’t proper or well-mannered like his father, nor was he as quiet or interested in reading.  In truth he and his father didn’t have all too much in common.  And even then, even if the two of them were similar, would you like him then?  Maybe he would take up all of your time.  He would be a burden to you, getting in the way of everything, nothing but extra baggage in a previously perfect love, only eliciting every possible negative emotion from within your soul?  There wasn’t any way he could conceive it going positively.  He could hardly control himself under normal circumstances, but he knew he’d have much less a tighter grip on his childish behavior or energy when meeting you.  You would hate him.  He knew it.  He would ruin your love for his father.  He would -

“Go inside.”  Dio’s voice broke him into the clear from his thick, foggy thoughts.  Somehow Giorno found himself at the entrance to his house - right in front of the door you were behind - his father motioning to the unlocked door.  If he said something to his dad now, he would worsen everything, not just for you but for his dad, too.  And again that fearful thought crept up again.  If you were gone, and his father was gone, then who would be there for him?

He found himself being practically shoved through the doorway, a strong hand against his back as the two of them entered, only for Giorno to have perhaps a moment to center himself before losing his balance and sight in an instant, slender arms enveloping him.

He was adorable!  You understood Dio’s fear of keeping him from you - not all women were open to single fathers, but, of course, you weren’t one of them - but couldn’t believe the thought that he’d been hiding such a cute little treasure from you.  As you set him down from your spinning hug, you kneeled down to him, taking him in for the first time wholly, as he did the exact same to you.

You - you didn’t hate him?  You hadn’t screamed, or ran?  You had...that was, you’d...he’d gotten a hug from you?  As he regained his balance he found a pretty young woman smiling gleefully, kneeling down to his level and looking you over from head to toe, joy only blooming more and more on your face as you examined his features.  You had the cutest smile he’d ever seen, and as he returned one of his own, still in a stupor, you easily said the same for him.  Look at the way his perfect cheeks budged up as he grinned, eyelashes fanning the frame of his stunning green eyes, small little nose looking oh-so-boopable you could hardly contain your squee, completely and totally oblivious to your soon-to-be-husband, who stood in the doorway, mouth twitching into something like a frown of jealousy.  

You relapsed into hugging Giorno, who, this time, returned your embrace, and as you felt his little arms around your back, you cried, “My baby boy!  Oh, look at you, angel!”  Feeling him laugh lightly against you, you began to barrage his small forehead with kisses, eyes welling with tears that threatened to spill over.  He was precious.  So, so, so incredibly precious, and by god, you were so blessed to have him and Dio in your life.  Oh, how could he have hidden Giorno from you?!  “I love you so much, Giorno.”

“I - I love you too, Miss [y/n] - mom!”  And he did.  You radiated warmth and comfort, and gave the best hugs he’d ever received, and were way more pretty than his dad, and smiled way more often, and rained affection down upon him.  A giant grin emerged on his face.  “I’ll be good, I promise!”

A tear escaped you.  “Oh, Giorno...thank you…” you trailed off after wiping the wetness from your eyes, only to cast a glance up and find Dio, practically pouting, skulking in the corner, like a big baby in time-out, and you laughed, orienting your son so he could see his father.  “...But save some love for your dad, too!”  You leaned in close, face just besides Giorno’s, before continuing in a whisper, “He won’t ever say it, but I think he’s jealous of us.”  

Giorno giggled.  He loved you already, absolutely, completely and totally, and called out, “Dad!  Come get a hug from mom!  She gives the best hugs!”

And as Dio made his way into the picture, lifting his young son upon his arms and settling him atop his shoulder, taller than he could ever dream of, now up in the air of the adults, smiling just like you, the three of you were positive that nothing better existed than being there, together, by each other’s side - a family.