Yo twin, ur fic was so epic I really loved it, I'm not even a fan of that ice skating dude with blue hair but I am genuinely invested so I really like ur work hihi.. (Pls make a part 2 okay..? Ok.)
Also, If it's okay to request fics.. Can you plsplspls with a kakyoin on-top make a Dio (Yes part 1 Dio before he used the mask thing) fic where he's the bottom instead of the reader? Cause like, I can't find fics like that lol.. Anyway, I'd love it if you kept his cute bitchy personality cause I'm prolly into that idk? But yes.
Thank you have a Good Day mwamwa
Dio Brando & Reader — Hollowed out
authors note: im the writer and i dont wanna write pb dio and i also wasnt in the mood to do slow burn because it was 3am when i was writing this i made it extremely self indulgent but i hope you like it either way! and as my first anon you shall be known as 🦠 anon also because ik u irl and your a bum and u asked me this irl before requesting 😭 but anyways i wanted to explore the absolute breaking point of someone as arrogant and powerful as DIO. instead of a battle of wills where he might find some redemption or defiance, i wanted to show what happens when he is pushed past the point of human or vampire comprehension. this is a story about complete psychological and physical unraveling, focusing on the total loss of dignity and the erasure of his ego through overstimulation and humiliation. it's dark, it's cruel, and it's definitely not for everyone. enjoy the wreckage 🦠 anon u fucking bum :)
tags: dio x reader, psychological torment, humiliation, degradation, extreme overstimulation, piss play, bladder control loss, crying, weeping, breaking dio's spirit, ego death, absolute power imbalance, piss play, non con, dub con, sadism, unrepentant reader, sadist reader, broken dio, catatonic state, psychological collapse, throne room setting, the world is definitely a little bit sentient, pure cruelty, dark fic, character study, absolute surrender, humiliation through waste, sensory overload, stripped of dignity, helpless dio, no beta we die like danny the dog
The throne room of the mansion reeks of copper and sweat as the power dynamic shatters completely. DIO, the self proclaimed god of this world, is not seated in regal comfort but is instead pinned face down against the cold marble floor, his massive, pale frame shaking with restrained fury.
His golden hair is a tangled mess across his face, obscuring his sharp, aristocratic features as he struggles against the overwhelming situation. You stand behind him, your grip firm on his hips, the weight of the 9 inch strapon pressed against his tight entrance.
The sight of the imposing vampire being reduced to something so vulnerable sends a surge of dominance through your veins.
"Get your filthy hands off me!" DIO roars, his voice cracking with genuine rage rather than theatrical menace. He attempts to twist his broad shoulders, his thick muscles bunching beneath his pale skin as he tries to buck you off. "I am DIO! I am the one who stands above all! How dare you—" His threat is cut short by a wet, gagging noise.
The World has manifested not as a protector, but as an extension of your dominance, its golden fingers gripping DIO's jaw with bruising force to pry his mouth open. The Stand's cock slides into his throat with zero ceremony, stretching his mouth to its limits and silencing his divine proclamations with the humiliating sound of choking.
Without warning, you drive yourself forward. The 9 inch length punches past his sphincter with devastating force, forcing a strangled cry from behind the Stand's cock that muffles against DIO's tongue. The impact sends his chest slamming against the marble, his ribs protesting the sudden invasion.
You don't give him time to adjust or recover; you begin to fuck him with a relentless, punishing rhythm. Each thrust is a claim of ownership, driving the thick silicone deep into his bowels, stretching him wider with every brutal stroke. DIO's fingers claw at the stone floor, nails screeching against the marble as he fights the sensation of being filled and claimed.
The scene is one of chaotic, violent intimacy. DIO's body is caught between two forces: the Stand ravaging his mouth and you ravaging his ass. The World's thrusts into his throat are mechanical and merciless, forcing him to swallow around the intrusive length while you pound into his backside.
DIO's eyes are blown wide, pupils contracting as he tries to maintain his dignity while his body betrays him. He tries to push back against you, his powerful thighs tensing to throw you off, but the Stand's grip on his head keeps him immobilized, forcing him to accept the dual assault.
"Stop... I'll kill you... I'll erase you from existence!" DIO manages to wheeze between gags, his voice muffled and desperate. His pride is hemorrhaging as fast as his control. His hips jerk involuntarily against your cock, a primal reaction to the overwhelming stimulation that his mind refuses to acknowledge.
The more he fights, the more the friction builds, the more the two points of penetration seem to synchronize in a way that threatens to shatter his composure entirely. The wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and the guttural sounds of his choked moans fill the air.
You increase the pace, your hands digging into the pale flesh of his waist to keep him anchored. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his muscles spasm around the strapon as you hit his prostate with unerring accuracy.
DIO's resistance begins to falter, not because he wants to submit, but because his nervous system is being overloaded by the sheer brutality of the act. His struggles become less coordinated, his movements transforming from attempts to escape into desperate, involuntary twitches that only serve to deepen your penetration. The god of the new world is being broken down into nothing more than a screaming, choking mess beneath you.
The sound of DIO's defiance breaks as the pleasure becomes too violent to ignore. His body begins to betray his pride in earnest; as you drive the 9 inch strapon into him with bone jarring force, his hips stop fighting against you and start bucking upward, seeking more of the punishing friction.
Each time you bottom out against his prostate, his entire frame convulses, his spine arching off the marble as he makes desperate, guttural noises around The World's cock. The Stand is relentless, its golden hands tightening around his skull to tilt his head back at an obscene angle, forcing him to take every inch of its cock while you ravage his ass from behind.
"Mmph-hngh—!" DIO's eyes roll back, the piercing intensity of his gaze dissolving into a haze of overstimulation. The theatrical menace that usually defines him has been replaced by something far more primal and pathetic. His fingers, which moments ago were clawing at the floor in rage, now curl into the marble, his knuckles white as he rides the wave of agony and ecstasy.
The dual assault has pushed him past the point of conscious thought; he can no longer formulate threats or grand declarations, his mind reduced to the raw, screaming sensation of being split open from both ends.
You lean forward, pressing your weight against his broad, pale back, grinding your hips into his ass with each brutal thrust. The slap of your pelvis against his firm glutes echoes through the throne room like gunshots.
The World mirrors your aggression, its mechanical thrusts into DIO's mouth becoming faster, more erratic, mimicking the desperate pace you've set. DIO's throat works convulsively as he swallows around the Stand's cock, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and mixing with the blood where his fangs have bitten into his own lip in a futile attempt to ground himself through pain.
"Look at you," you growl against his ear, your voice cutting through his choked whimpers. "Where is your godhood now, DIO?" The humiliation is the final blow. He tries to snarl, to spit at you, but all that comes out is a wet, broken moan that vibrates through both penetrating lengths.
His body is slick with sweat and saliva, his pale skin flushed with a dark, feverish heat. He is no longer a conqueror; he is a toy, being used and discarded by the very forces he thought he controlled.
The climax approaches with the inevitability of a storm. Your thrusts become shorter, harder, each one aimed at shattering what remains of his composure. DIO's legs tremble violently, his thighs shaking so hard he can barely keep them spread.
His hips move in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm, chasing the sensation even as his mind screams in protest. The World's cock pulses inside his throat, and you feel his internal muscles clenching around the strapon in powerful, involuntary spasms. He is close so close to breaking completely.
With one final, devastating thrust that drives the silicone all the way to your pelvis, you feel DIO's body go rigid. A strangled, high pitched keen escapes his throat as his orgasm rips through him, his ass clamping down on you in desperate, milking contractions.
Simultaneously, The World drives itself deep into his throat, its own climax forcing DIO to swallow convulsively as his vision whites out. He collapses into the marble, his body twitching in the aftermath of the dual release, his chest heaving as he gasps for air through the haze of spent pleasure and utter humiliation.
DIO lies motionless on the marble, his body still twitching from the aftershocks of the dual climax. His chest heaves in ragged, uneven bursts as he tries to reclaim his breath, but there is no respite.
The World does not withdraw; instead, it remains embedded in his throat, its weight and presence a constant, gagging reminder of his helplessness. You don't pull away either. Instead, you shift your grip, pinning his wrists behind his back with one hand while your other hand fists into his golden hair, yanking his head back to expose the vulnerable column of his throat.
"Did you think it was over?" you whisper, your voice cold and devoid of any mercy. "You don't get to rest after what you've done." The overstimulation is immediate and devastating. As soon as your cock the strapon begins to move again, the hypersensitive nerves in his ass scream in protest.
His body, already pushed to its absolute limit, convulses violently. Each new thrust feels like molten metal being poured into his already raw entrance. DIO's eyes fly open, blown wide with terror as fresh waves of unwanted pleasure and excruciating sensitivity crash over him.
A broken, wet sound escapes his throat not a roar of defiance, but a genuine, pathetic whimper. Tears begin to stream down his pale cheeks, carving hot paths through the sweat and saliva that coat his face.
The sight of DIO, the unstoppable vampire lord, weeping like a wounded child while being fucked like an animal sends a jolt of sadistic satisfaction through you. His pride hasn't just been wounded; it has been systematically dismantled.
"Please... no more... I can't " His words are cut off by another gagging thrust from The World, but the plea is unmistakable. The tears flow freely now, his sobs muffled by the Stand filling his mouth.
His entire body trembles with the effort of trying to process the conflicting signals of agony and overwhelming arousal. His nervous system is short circuiting; every touch feels like an electric shock, every thrust sends him spiraling into a disorienting haze where he can no longer distinguish between pain and pleasure.
Deciding to push the humiliation to its absolute nadir, you release his hair only to grab his hips with bruising force, tilting him higher to expose him completely. "Show me how little control you really have, DIO."
The command is cruel. The pressure on his bladder, combined with the relentless pounding against his prostate and the sheer psychological terror, breaks whatever remaining restraint his body possesses.
A warm, yellow stream suddenly splashes against the cold marble beneath him, spreading beneath his ass as he loses control. The smell of urine fills the air, mixing with the copper and sweat. DIO's eyes flutter shut as he sobs, a sound of pure, unadulterated shame.
He is pissing himself while being fucked, his body betraying him in every conceivable way. The humiliation is total. He is not a god; he is a leaking, weeping mess, reduced to the most base and undignified state of existence while you continue to drive yourself into his ruined body without pause.
The throne room has become a chamber of pure degradation. The sharp, acrid stench of urine mingles with the musk of sex and the metallic tang of blood, creating an atmosphere of absolute debasement. DIO's body has reached a state of permanent convulsion; he can no longer fight you, nor can he even fully recoil.
He simply exists as a reactive mass of pale flesh, twitching involuntarily with every strike of the strapon. The overstimulation has crossed a threshold where his brain can no longer process sensation as anything other than pure, white hot agony. Every nerve ending is exposed, screaming at a volume that makes his vision blur and spark.
"Look at this mess you've made," you sneer, watching as the urine continues to leak from him in weak, pathetic spurts, unable to stop the involuntary release. His bladder has been completely compromised by the relentless pounding against his prostate.
The sight of the legendary DIO, the man who would remake the world in his image, reduced to pissing himself on a marble floor while weeping uncontrollably, is the ultimate trophy. His sobs have become something more animalistic wet, hiccuping gasps that rattle in his chest as he struggles to draw air around the unyielding cock of The World.
His tears have soaked the hair framing his face, matting the golden strands against his sweat slicked cheeks. His eyes are bloodshot, pupils dilated to the point of swallowing the irises, staring at nothing with a hollow, broken expression.
The light in them that predatory, arrogant spark has been completely extinguished, replaced by the blank stare of someone who has been pushed beyond the capacity to think. He is trapped in a feedback loop of sensation: the stretch of his ass, the gagging in his throat, the humiliation of his own waste, all crashing together until his mind simply shuts down to protect itself.
The World shows no signs of exhaustion either; its movements remain mechanical and precise, its thrusts into DIO's mouth becoming more shallow and rapid, deliberately teasing the back of his throat to provoke more gagging spasms.
Each time DIO's throat constricts around the Stand, it sends fresh waves of electricity through his spine, causing his hips to jerk uselessly against your relentless assault. He is caught in a vice of pleasure and pain that offers no escape, only further degradation.
"You're not even a man anymore, are you?" you taunt, your hands sliding down from his hips to grip his inner thighs, spreading them wider to expose the raw, glistening mess of his entrance.
The skin around his ass is flushed a deep, angry pink from the friction and the constant stretching. "You're just a hole. A broken, weeping hole." The psychological cruelty cuts deeper than any physical blade, but DIO has no words left to respond. He can only whimper, a sound that carries no dignity, only the raw terror of a creature that has been utterly conquered.
The rhythm of your thrusts becomes increasingly erratic, deliberately unpredictable to keep his hypersensitive nerves in a state of perpetual shock. You drive the 9 inch length in with such violence that his entire body lifts off the floor with each impact, his spine cracking audibly against the marble.
The combination of the physical trauma, the sensory overload, and the complete loss of bodily control pushes him toward a complete psychotic break. His cries become incoherent strings of nonsense as his consciousness wavers between the pain and the humiliating ecstasy that continues to ravage him.
With a sudden, jarring motion, The World withdraws its cock from DIO's mouth with a wet, sucking sound. The Stand's golden form flickers like dying sunlight before dissolving entirely into the air, leaving DIO's mouth exposed, gaping, and dripping with saliva.
For a heartbeat, there is a moment of terrifying silence in the throne room, broken only by DIO's ragged, wet breathing as he tries to suck air into his ravaged throat. He lies there, splayed and exposed, the urine pooling beneath him, his body still quivering from the aftershocks of the Stand's assault.
But something flickers behind those bloodshot, hollow eyes a spark of that ancient, poisonous pride that refuses to die. With a groan that sounds more like a wounded animal than a vampire lord, DIO attempts to push himself up. His arms shake violently, muscles twitching uncontrollably as he tries to plant his palms against the slick marble.
"I... will... slaughter you..." he wheezes, each word punctuated by a coughing fit that sends fresh tears streaming down his face. "I will... tear your heart out..." His voice lacks any of its former thunder; it is thin, reedy, and broken by the trauma of what you've just done to him.
He manages to roll onto his side, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, like a marionette with cut strings. He tries to claw at you as you loom over him, his fingers fumbling weakly at your clothes, his nails scraping uselessly against your skin.
His attempt at a counterattack is laughably pathetic a desperate, flailing motion born of pure terror rather than actual strength. "Don't touch me! Stay away from me, you worm!" he snarls, but as he tries to lunge forward, his body betrays him again.
A fresh spasm of overstimulation wracks his frame, and he collapses back onto the marble with a pathetic whimper, his legs splayed wide in that vulnerable, ruined position.
The sight of him trying to fight back while covered in his own waste and tears only makes your blood boil with more dominance. You reach down, grabbing him by the throat with one hand, your fingers sinking into his pale skin to pin him flat against the cold stone.
"Still trying to play the predator, DIO?" you mock, pressing your knee between his shaking thighs. "Look at yourself. Look at what you've become." You force him to look down at the mess beneath him the urine, the saliva, the evidence of his complete loss of control. His eyes dart down, and a fresh wave of humiliation crashes over him, his shoulders slumping as the last of his resistance crumbles.
His fight drains out of him as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a hollow, defeated sobbing. He doesn't even try to cover himself anymore; he simply lies there, exposed to your gaze and your cruelty, his chest heaving as he gasps for air.
The attempt at defiance has left him more exhausted than the act itself, leaving him raw and completely defenseless. He stares up at you with those shattered eyes, no longer angry, just terrified and broken, waiting for whatever torment you decide to inflict next.
You shift your position, positioning yourself directly over his ruined ass, the 9 inch strapon gleaming wickedly in the dim light. "Now, let's finish what we started." Without warning, you drive yourself back into him.
The sudden re-entry sends a shock through his system so intense that his back arches violently off the floor, his mouth opening in a silent, agonized scream. He has no Stand to protect him now, no divine power to shield him there is only you, his pain, and the relentless rhythm of your dominance as you begin to fuck his broken body once again.
The final assault is not one of passion, but of pure, methodical annihilation. There is no rhythm left in your thrusts only a brutal, mechanical pounding as you brace your hands on the marble beside his head and drive your hips forward with devastating force.
The harness creaks with each impact as the 9 inch silicone length punches into his raw, overstimulated ass, each stroke designed to shatter whatever neurons remain functional in DIO's brain. His body responds with violent, involuntary spasms that make his limbs flail uselessly against the cold stone.
His eyes have gone completely vacant, the pupils blown so wide that the golden irises have vanished into twin black voids. He has stopped crying; he has stopped sobbing. He has simply stopped being present.
"Say it, DIO," you command, your voice a low growl that vibrates against his spine as you grind your pelvis against his glutes.
You pause mid thrust, holding him impaled, the length stretching him to a point of near tearing agony that makes his entire frame go rigid. "Say what you are." The silence stretches, thick with the acrid stench of urine and sweat, broken only by the wet, sucking sounds of his labored breathing. His throat works convulsively, but no words come.
The vampire lord who would be king has been hollowed out, leaving behind a creature that can no longer even formulate a coherent thought.
"I am... nothing..." The words finally emerge as a broken, wet whisper, barely audible. It is not a confession; it is a statement of fact. The last spark of defiance, the last shred of the ego that built the vampire empire, has been burned away by the sheer intensity of the overstimulation.
As the words leave his lips, his head lolls to the side, his neck going limp. He has surrendered completely, not out of desire, but out of total neurological collapse. He is no longer a person; he is merely a vessel for your cruelty.
You decide to deliver the final blow. You increase your pace to a frenzied, devastating speed, your hips working like pistons as you drive the harness forward. Each thrust is harder than the last, driving into his raw ass with enough force to make his bones rattle against the marble.
The sensory overload reaches its terminal point; DIO's body begins to convulse in a continuous, uncontrolled seizure of pleasure and pain. His internal muscles lock tight around the silicone in a desperate, milking grip. A final, broken sound something between a whimper and a scream escapes his throat as his mind finally snaps, his consciousness retreating into a dark, silent void to escape the torment.
The climax tears through you, and as you thrust one last time with everything you have, you feel the final collapse of his spirit. DIO's body goes completely slack beneath you, his muscles releasing their grip as he falls into a state of catatonic shock. His breathing becomes shallow and automatic, his eyes fixed on nothing, his body a ruined map of red marks, sweat, and waste.
The god is dead. The vampire is gone. There is only the silence of the mansion and the broken thing that remains where a king once stood.
You withdraw slowly, the wet sound of the silicone sliding out of him echoing in the empty chamber. DIO does not move. He does not flinch when you leave his body exposed and shivering. He simply remains there, splayed on the floor in his own filth, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes.
The throne room falls into a deathly silence, the only movement the slow drip of fluids pooling on the cold marble floor.
