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Gangsta's Paradise

Chapter Text

God, that mission could have gone better. A lot better. 'It'll be routine' Buccellati had said, 'go in, do the job, get out. You probably won't even need your pistol.' Routine turned into a shoot-out halfway through thanks to god-damned Luca. God, who even invited that asshole.

Right, his boss did.

His comrade had- after the fight ended- at least dropped him off at the emergency room with a weak alibi and weaker bribe. Fucking Luca. At least he called Abbachio who called Buccellati, who was now covering the gangs tracks at the hospital. It was a ritzy ass hospital too, compared to the shitty back alleyway underground clinics he was used to. Mista just wished he would stop bleeding though, as he was loaded up onto the stiff gurney. A lady came by who gave him a swift shot in the arm and hooked up a blood bag to the pole attached to the mobile cot before scurrying away. He would have been offended if he weren't so obviously a mafioso.

Or if whatever was in that syringe hadn't suddenly left him feeling really, really good.

And sleepy.

He could climb a mountain right now.

After a nap.

A doctor came by as soon as his body turned into a limp noodle, quickly examining the two holes in his chest before calling for two others to move him somewhere. He was swiftly distracted by the sudden golden halo above his eyes. A guy, probably a nurse, was at the end of the gurney, partially leaning over his head wheeling him away. Mista was transfixed, his vision was kinda blurry but he saw gold hair, pale skin, and the light behind him made him look ethereal. He couldn't possibly be real.

Mista's eyes were wide as he slurred, "are you an angel?"

The blond figure looked down at him, seemingly startled he was still awake, before giving a soft smile. Oh god, Mista was dying. He was dying and there was a heavenly being here, waiting to take him somewhere. Probably not the pearly gates with his lifestyle choices. Not unless God was a fan of Pulp Fiction. Mista's eyelids were drooping, and the dulled wave of panic had him reaching a bloody hand back towards his angel, falling short as he mumbled gibberish. The cherubim above him said something the static in his ears couldn't parse out.

The gangster was unconscious as soon as his eyes closed.

Mista woke back up sometime later to the itch of gauze and surgical tape and a dull throbbing in his abdomen. The shuffle of paper beside him got his dazed attention. Buccellati was sitting in the standard issue chair next to the medical bed he was laid out on reading a newspaper.

"Two gunshot wounds to the chest, one missing a kidney by an inch, the other hit a rib, fracturing it. A graze along your right arm requiring 6 stitches, and minor lacerations on your elbows, wrists, and knees. You went through two blood bags, a saline drip, was stuck in surgery for a good 3 hours, and asked out your emergency nurse."

Oh, well that cleared up a few things. Mainly why he felt like shit. Wait, what was that last part?

Mista garbled out an approximation of "What'd I do?"

Talking was really hard at the moment. His face felt numb, and his jaw was all rubbery and wouldn't do what he wanted it to. Bruno for the most part, looked amused.

"You asked out the nurse as you were wheeled into surgery."

He did? Was it the angel-faced beauty? God he hoped so. Did he get a number?

"Before you ask, he left a name but not a number since he was working."

Damn, but a name was good! God, he was so excited- Bruno's face darkened,

"Mista, what happened back there?"

Oh right, the job.

"Uhh, Luca was talkin' shit and people were gettin' mad and I was tryin' to talk 'em down, but then he started makin' threats and next thing I know everyone was pullin' out their pieces, so of course we get into a shootout, and Luca ran off like a piss baby leavin' me to the wolves, if the wolves had guns."

Bruno was staring, bemused. He... must not be speaking as clearly as he thought he was.

"I'll have to get the details from you when you are more... sober. I asked Luca for his side of things and received a few contradictions. I'll take care of it though. You did well, regardless."

"Thanks boss."

The door clicked open, a baby faced girl with bright green hair popped her face into the room.

"I've got some meds and dinner for you two."

The mention of medicine had Mista's stomach twinging in pain. It had been getting sharper, but now that he was aware of it, it was starting to hurt more than a little.

A painkiller, a few antibiotics, an 'uh oh, your bandages needed to be changed 20 minutes ago', a painful bandage change, and a sad hospital meal of some pre-cut sausage, bread, a very wilted salad, and the tiniest cup of pudding later found Mista drifting again.

Bruno got up, dusted himself off, and waved, "I'll send someone to collect you in the morning. Behave yourself in the meantime."

Mista raised a hand and attempted to return the wave. Settling back into the rather uncomfortable hospital bed, the gangster couldn't help his foggy brain from pulling up images of the angelic nurse from before. God he hoped he got to see him again.

"Wake up, bitch, we're getting you outta here."

Mista startled awake, then startled again at the twisted scowl of his teammates painted face.
Abbachio had gotten all dolled up to come and get him? Mista would have been flattered if only his brain could catch up. Those drugs were something else.

"Where we goin'?"

A condescending eyeroll, "out of the hospital, dumbass. I already checked in with the secretary, once a nurse comes by you're free to go."

"Oh, okay. So soon?"

Abbachio stared. A polite knock at the door caught the attention of the two, as the door cracked with a light "I'm coming in."

Mista froze, his outpatient nurse was none other than the blond from... yesterday? Or maybe the day before. Now that he was sobered up (mostly) he wanted to beat his past self up. The blond wasn't just a pretty possible angel; he was a beautiful fantasy pulled from ancient depictions of powerful cherubim. Like what you would see at an art gallery full of renaissance paintings, or the Sistine chapel. Mista was contemplating returning to the Catholic church, as the nurse made his way to the hospital bed.

Dropping off what looked to be a pile of the gangsters bloody clothes on a nearby table first, before turning with a "Guido Mista? You are ready to go?"

"Uh, yeah, that's me, yep, I'm ready for- to go."

A soft smile, "I'll need to check your bandages and stitches before we send you off. There's also some paperwork to file. Can you sit up?"

The gunman was enraptured. What a beautiful man. He missed everything he said.


"Sit up and get this over with, Mista. I'll take the paperwork. We've already been here for ages anyway."

Abbachio snapped, practically yanking the clipboard full of forms from the blond. There wasn't a pen attached. Irately huffing, the tall man held out a palm expectantly as the nurse reached into one of the pockets of his uniform. Pulling out a green and pink, heart and ladybug covered pen with a little plastic flower on the end.

"It's the only one I have, I'm afraid." Completely expressionless.

Abbachio looked murderous.

"Fine, whatever, just hurry up."

"Of course."

The blond moved to stand over Mista, "is it okay if I touch you?"

The blond could probably murder him and the gangster would be okay with it. Words failing, he nodded a bit too vigorously. The nurse gave him a light smile, hands pulling up the papery hospital issue shirt and gently feeling around the gauze pads of his wounds. Mista was cherry red, and trying very hard not to think inappropriate thoughts about the nice, hot guy just doing his job and currently feeling him up. At this angle though, he not only could see smooth collarbones, but also into the breast pocket of the guys uniform. It was full of plain pens.

Mista practically swooned. He was in love.

"Everything looks to be in order, but you'll need to keep any physical activity to a minimum, so you don't tear anything open, okay?"

Mista nodded again.

"I have your personal belongings with me too. The shirt you were wearing was ruined, so we disposed of it, but everything else is alright to take with you."

Oh wait, he wouldn't have a shirt? Abbachio sure as shit probably didn't bring one. Shit-

"I did bring a shirt from our abandoned goods collection with me that you can have, if you don't have one of your own. Hopefully it will fit."

Mista could cry, he was an actual angel.

"A prescription for painkillers and antibiotics were sent to the pharmacy already, so be sure to follow the attached guidelines for taking them. Come back if you have any issues, okay?"

Mista was doggedly nodding and humming affirmation as Abbachio scowled increasingly harder.

"Can we go now?"

"Yes-" glancing quickly over the clipboard, "this sheet is for you, but everything looks to be in order."

The blond grasped Mista's wrist, helping pull him into a wobbly stand. "Stay out of trouble, Mr. Guido Mista."

"Uh, I'll uh, try, thanks..."


"Thank you, Giorno, for every-"

"Alright, let's go."

Abbachio was pulling him out of the room, rather uncaring of his unsteady legs. Looking back and giving the blond, Giorno, one last wave before he was dragged away, forced into a bathroom to change, and then leveraged into one of the gangs vehicles. Was he ever going to see that angel again?

Chapter Text

Almost three months later and life had gone on. Mista now had some cool new scars to add to his collection, since replaced his ruined favorite shirt, and Giorno appeared to him only in dreams. They were vivid, sultry, and the best thing in the whole world. He missed the blond though. Shortly after they parted, Mista had caved into his curiosity and thrown himself into some light Facebook-stalking. He learned that his angel was a pre-med student at the local university, working on a residency at the illustrious Speedwagon Hospital. The guy also apparently volunteered at the animal shelter, loved the outdoors, and had an instagram account dedicated to flowers, bugs, and nature in general.

He was too perfect, and sometimes a little unreal.

If it wasn't for finding a single picture of a birthday celebration were the blond angels face was being smushed into a cake by an incredibly-massive, equally-blond Greek statue, Mista would have chalked the guy up to being a fever dream. He ended up saving that particular picture on his phone. Luca had a probationary position now, which basically was kind of a "mess up again and we'll probably kill you sort of thing". Ah, the mafia life. The little upstart was at least minding himself better. Mista was also cleared for physical activity a few weeks beforehand, and he was kind of eager to get back to work. Money was getting a little tight.

Which was how Mista found himself working a job on a balmy Wednesday night with Luca and his buddy Narancia. Narancia was on watch duty as the gunman and Luca went and solidified an exchange between Passione and a group known as the Green Dolphin Street Gang. Relatively new to town but well known for their violent tendencies and for most of the members being ex-convicts. Things were going great, there were only two of the G.D.S there, a pink haired man with a baseball bat and very ...interesting mesh clothes who wouldn't stop talking about the girl he loved. The other a soft-spoken man in a blue jumpsuit, that had a bonus gold plated codpiece. They were a strange bunch, but they were cool enough.

Things were looking good for once.

At the end of the exchange, Luca passed the goods off to Narancia, who scampered off to the car.

"Jolyne, huh? Hey, Mista weren't you tryna bang a Jolyne not too long ago?"

"Huh? No, it's Giorno, and I wasn't-" the baseball bat swinging at him was definitely a surprise.

Fucking Luca.

Mista was back at the Speedwagon hospital with just a fractured arm this time. Accompanied by both Narancia, and the two GD.S. members, who introduced themselves as Weather and Anasui and he's sorry he broke your arm he's kind of an emotionally constipated asshole. Luca was left in the car to be dealt with later.

"Mr. Guido?"

Mista's eyes went wide, heart beating overtime as he turned to voice, "Giorno?"

The blond was at the doors to the stuffy waiting room, uniform scrubs on (they had cartoon ladybugs all over them), hair and face as immaculate as ever, holding a clipboard. He was wonderful and Mista couldn't believe he got to see him again.

"You are back so soon?"

Not soon enough, "yeah uh, my arm is all..."

Narancia was snickering beside him. The blond, seeing his current company, merely gave the two G.D.S. members a polite wave.

"Will you tell Jolyne hello for me?"

"I suppose so."

"Mmm. Mr. Guido, let's go get an x-ray of that arm then."

Mista fought his way out of the cramped waiting room chair to follow his crush down the winding hallways only to be left alone in the radiology room.

"I'll be right back with the radiologist, okay?"

A heartbroken nod. An hour and 15 minutes later found Mista in a bright orange cast 'to match your pants, hahaha!' held up in a sling and back out in the waiting room as Narancia giggled and Weather gave him a consoling pat on the back.

"They gave you one that matches your pants."

"Yeah. Yeah I guess it does."

"Mr. Guido?" Mista nearly took Weather's arm off with how fast he turned. Giorno was back!

"You look ready to go, can you come sign some paperwork for me?"

Anything, "yeah sure, no problem."

"I sent your prescription to the same pharmacy as last time, if that is okay, Mr. Guido?"

"Of course and uh you can call me Mista if you want"

A soft smile, dimpling the blonds cheeks, "you'll have to come back around the date on this form to have the cast removed. But is there anything else you need?"

"Can I have your number?"

Sky-blue eyes widened, cheeks reddening slightly.

"Uh shit, right uhhh forget I asked- it wasn't- yeah I'll just-"

Mista had turned to briskly walk away with a small scrap of dignity when Giorno's hand shot out, grasping his. Turning back, the smile was there again, and in his other hand was a tiny, orange lollipop.

"For you, to match. Take care, Mista."

Dumbstruck, the gangster took the tiny lollipop as the blond angel flitted back through the waiting room doors. Uncurling his other hand, he found an elegantly cursive name with a string of numbers underneath, scrawled across a small scrap of paper. Mista could cry. Before they took Luca out behind a shed somewhere he'd have to thank him for this glorious boon. Shoving the lollipop into his mouth, he hurriedly typed in Giorno's number and saved it with tons of obligatory angel emojis.

"Mista! Who is your hot friend!"

Ah, shit, Narancia! The gunman quickly shredded up the note against his better judgement, before turning and giving a hearty, "none of your business! Time to go!"

It was now 9 hours and 36 minutes into Thursday, approximately 12 hours and 36 minutes since he left the hospital and Mista's phone was broken.

It started as any normal day, sleeping in only to wake up at the sound of an incoming call. What was not as normal was his floundering for his phone with the added weight of the cast on his arm. The heavy plaster, upon being flung over in an effort to find his mobile had ended up sending it flying. It was reminiscent of a rather hefty child on a trampoline sending a smaller, lighter occupant flying with each jump. To make matters worse, the trajectory of the phone sent it straight into the low lipped mug of water on his nightstand that he had been sipping from in order to swallow his meds. The impact of the phone caused it to wobble before falling down and shattering on the hardwood of his bedroom floor.

It was the single most unlucky, most truly ridiculous thing he'd ever witnessed.

Staring blankly for a few moments, Mista pried his gaze upwards to the calendar on his wall. It was September fourth. Of course it would be. With dead eyes Mista laid back down and stared at his ceiling. That ringtone was Buccellati. He wouldn't be able to check up on the gang or receive orders. He lost all his pictures (mostly food, he had a blog on the side, it was important), he lost all his contacts. He lost Giorno's number. He only got to send one text too ('hey its me guido with the broken arm and stuff you wanna hang out sometime?'). There were still a few weeks before he had to go back to the hospital to get his cast off. Would it be bad form to go in earlier to ask for his number again? Why couldn't he have just kept the damn note!? Arm covering his eyes, Mista cursed Leaky-eyed Luka, physics, and the number four.

Chapter Text

It was a long three and a half weeks. Mista had gotten a brand new phone, with a waterproof case courtesy of Buccellati. Fugo laughed at him so hard he puked, then felt bad for laughing and bought him a brand new mug. A novelty mug specifically made to be hard to tip over. Narancia bought him a four pack of pastel sippy cups. Abbachio had to leave the room. Mista was also stuck in the mafia-equivalent of desk duty. Sorting mail. Decrypting the orders from their weird-ass and very mysterious don. Burning death threats. Making newspaper clippings. Making death threats with the newspaper clippings. He was beginning to feel like an unpaid intern.

Luca had disappeared. Whether he was offed or had ran, nobody was quite sure. But at least things would probably be easier and definitely quieter. Mista was bummed about losing contact with Giorno though. He hadn't even thought to memorize the number, and... attempting to contact him through social media seemed almost stalkerish. They had no mutual friends either, truly living outside each others spheres of influence. He supposed he could ask Anasui for Giorno's number, but he was still mad at the pink haired asshole. Definitely not traumatized and scared of him or anything though.

So, the mafioso whittled away the weeks, doing odd jobs and busy work until it was time to get the cast off. God he really hoped Giorno was there. He needed to explain. And be honest about what happened. And apologize. And try again. And not tell him what honestly happened. Pulling up to the hospital campus with his own vehicle, a vintage Indian because motorcycles were cool, Mista walked in to the waiting room. It was... odd being the one to do this. The receptionist was a timid blond with a high ponytail with a little bronze nametag that said 'Lucy Steele'.

"Hello, Miss Lucy, I'm here to get a cast taken off."

Lucy floundered a bit, "of course, can you, here's a form to fill out. What was your name?"

"Guido Mista." "Right, okay, I'll check you in so you can sit."

"Uhh, thanks."

She seemed a bit young to be working at a hospital, but whatever. Mista was never really one to judge, especially given his own life choices. Sitting in the stuffy waiting room without dying/being in immense pain, he could finally notice the odd mix of smooth lounge and 80's hits. The transition between a soft jazzy number and 'Walk like an Egyptian' was pretty jarring. He could also notice the portraits on the walls. A bunch were of the founding Speedwagon and his properties; he was something of a local legend in the city, once a petty criminal but had ended up striking oil on a casual hike. He became a tycoon overnight and created all kinds of public works and philanthropy projects. He was also the number one most elligible bachelor.

The other portraits were of a guy named Jonathan Joestar, his wife Erina, and what looked like archaeology digs. Huh. Mista squinted. There was some serious resemblance between Jonathan and Giorno now that he thought about it. Abruptly, a pink haired nurse dramatically burst through the waiting room door. Messy bob cut, harsh dark eyes, and a mostly angular face, she was also packing some serious muscle. And she had a rosary around her neck. She looked ready to give an exorcism. Mista hoped she would choose the loudly sniffling child a few rows over, he probably needed it the most.

"Guido Mista." Drawled in the most bored monotone he'd ever heard.

And he was friends with Leone Abbachio.

Shit, that was him though. Standing up, god these chairs were so small, the gangster made his way over to the buffest was-probably-a-nun-in-a-past-life nurse he'd ever seen. She could easily benchpess someone. Maybe even him. He caught a plastic name badge with 'H. 'Hot Pants' P.', raising an eyebrow at the weird name.

"Huh, they gave you a cast to match your pants. Cute."

These weren't even the same pants.

Did he just always wear orange pants? He did have a few pairs, but surely he wore other pairs right? The nurse led him into a smaller room with a curt 'sit on the table' before leaving, returning some time later with what was probably a doctor and an impressive saw. The doctor, catching a flash of "Zeppeli" on a gold nametag, looked him up ad down.

"They gave you a color to match your pants! How wonderful! Nye-wehehe!"

Mista wanted to scream.

The doctor clapped his hands together, "right-o, lets get this cast off!"

Grabbing the saw, and getting to work with a steady grating grind. About halfway through the removal process of the plaster cast, the door clicked open.

"Dr. Zeppeli, how much longer will you be here? There's a-oh!"

Giorno had stuck his head through the doorway, startling Mista, and earning him a sharp "oi, stop moving, you egg!" from Hot Pants.


The blond, having spotted the gangster, scrunched his face into an almost pout, before ignoring him completely.

"Room 203, after this if you can, Doctor."

Dr. Zeppeli gave a trilling "right-o" as the blond made to leave.

"Wait, wait Giorno, wait I gotta talk to you!"

"Stop squirming, you goose-nugget, we got a sharp blade here!"

Dr. Zeppeli looked excited, "Nye-wehe! A lover's spat? Oh my, the drama!"

"It's not! Uh, but Giorno I didn't mean to leave you hanging!"

Mista had the blonds attention, but barely. He couldn't let him eave like this, though.

"My phone-physics made it go into my water! On the table and my mug broke! And I had to hide your number so it got lost! But I got a new phone, with a waterproof case and everything! But I didn't wanna Facebook stalk you because I like you! So I had to wait to get my arm- the cast off!"

Mista had channeled his inner-Narancia a bit too hard. The truth, half hidden from embarrassment, had ended up tongue-tying him. The health staff had paused in the middle of sawing in order to listen... and attempt to glean some semblance of information. Giorno looked unreadable, while everyone else seemed confused.

"Wait, what was that about a mug?"

"You like me?" Giorno had both eyebrows quirked.

Mista was convinced the sun shined out of the blonds probably beautiful ass. He was a real life Disney Princess and Mista wanted to sing karaoke with him. Take him on a picnic. Suck his dick. Hold his hand. He was a hopeless romantic at heart and he'd seen enough romance movies for a life time. Even 50 Shades of Gray. Mista would probably do something stupid for the blond if he asked nicely, if it meant getting to be closer to him.


The other healthcare professionals were in rapt silence, wide-eyed, both waiting to see where this might pan out. Giorno was still completely unreadable. A minute,now two minutes passed. Mista was beginning to sweat, the tension in the room was palpable.

"This Friday. I'm off at 5:30. Take me on a date."

Before turning, golden braid swirling after him. The two healthcare workers let out a sigh as Mista pumped a fist. He got to take Giorno out! On a date! He... still didn't have the blonds number. Damn.

"Wow, I was not expecting GioGio to go for the gold like that."

"I agree! He's always been a driven boy though, just like his pop-pop"

"Well, congrats on the date, now no more squirming okay, my lunch is in 15 and I don't wanna be late."

"Right-o! Let's keep going, hmm?"

God, Mista was on cloud nine. Seven minutes passed in no time at all and Mista's arm was free and... kinda gross looking.

"Uh, is it... is it supposed to look all... like this?"

Hot pants stared as the doctor put a few things away, mysteriously pulling out a wrapped up, heart shaped lollipop from behind his ear and handing it to the gangster. This was the weirdest hospital.

"You haven't been able to wash your arm in like... 3 weeks. Of course it's gonna look like a granny rolled around in butter."


Sighing, the pink haired nurse thrust a sheet of paper into Mista's chest.

"This is some info on how to take care of your un-casted arm. Washing guides, etc. You wanna keep the cast?"


"Well here you go," thrusting the orange cast into his arms before wandering away.

This piece of shit had been the bane of his existence for weeks. But he had never been able to fully inspect the whole surface before now. Fugo had helpfully drawn some tiger stripes on it, and Buccellati had stoically added a get better message on it. Somebody had also drawn a very anatomically correct penis around the elbow. The sling would've hidden it, but he hadn't had to use the sling in a few weeks now. How long had he been walking around with this?

Doctor Zeppeli grasped his freed hand, giving a light shake, "take care, my boy!" before prancing away. Hot Pants remained indifferent, probably used to these things.

"Right, well more paperwork then you are free to go."

"Uh, yeah sure."

Later that night, as he was just settling in to sleep, Mista would remember Giorno, and his date. Friday was in three days. He needed a place to go, and clothes, a good place, he needed to do laundry, he needed to clean! Eyes snapping open, he practically flung himself from his bed as he got to work.

Chapter Text

It was 5 o'clock Friday, and Mista had been, and still was, a ball of nervous energy. He had deep-cleaned his modest apartment, the vacuum running at 3 AM had his downstairs neighbor (a French restaurateur with absolutely nuts silver hair) cursing at him through the floor. But he had to make sure everything in his life looked good. While he wasn't a slob by any stretch, he did sometimes leave dishes in the sink, or laundry undone, dirty magazines out of their hiding spot, and some hair in a few drains. He was only human damnit. But he was a human now courting a higher being, therefore now he'd actually need to put some effort into things. Before Giorno, he'd had some flings with random pretty people he would ask out on a whim. One night stands, casual meet-ups, nothing solid or serious.

Giorno was serious.

He was the kind of person Mista wanted to see and do things with more than once, the kind of person he could settle down with. So he had to impress Giorno, his love-stricken heart refused anything less. So because of his determination, his apartment was now spotless (just in case they came by afterwards), he was wearing his nicest pants (plain, unfortunately), his nicest sweater (with no crop, unfortunately), nicest (plain, unfortunately) beanie, and his cleanest pair of boots. His wilder, usual, and more beloved clothes might not be the most appropriate for a first date.

God he was going on a date!

With Giorno!

He had all day to get ready too. Buccellati had deemed him useless at noon and sent him home with a curt, 'have fun on your date, Mista.' He had been nervously puttering around since, and he still had- a glance to the clock on his stove- 6 hours.

That wasn't right.

Checking his phone instead, helpfully blinking 5:07, he had a few minutes of downtime. Maybe to get some flowers. But he was already doing a dinner, and had nabbed opening day tickets to the botanical garden, and was planning on getting him gelato, and then kissing away the spilled gelato from his pouty pink lips on the bench in thepark under the moonlight. Okay that last one had been unplanned but the thought of it had him staring blankly at the wall.

Snapping out of his daydream, he checked his phone again. 5:11, well damn guess no flowers. Grabbing his helmet and an extra one for his passenger, Mista made his way to the hospital. Parking outside the main entrance this time, the gunman checked his phone again. The clock just turned to 5:24. He... arrived on the 24th minute. That's some awful luck! He couldn't do this!

But... maybe if he he did a lap around the parking lot, he'd technically arrive at a better time?

Hopping back on his bike and circling the lot, Mista rechecked the clock on his phone. 5:27. Much better! Neurosis soothed, the gunman made his way into the hospital proper. The main entryway of the hospital was even more high end than the emergency room and side clinic he had been frequenting. Which left him suddenly very worried, what if this wasn't the right place to pick up Giorno? He supposed he could ask the desk attendant further in to call or something. Decision made, the gunman made his way over to the mahogany help desk in the center of the front atrium.

Behind the desk was a model. Straight, pitch-black hair, perfect brows, expert make-up; she looked like something out of Hollywood. She also had sunglasses on inside. Pulling himself together, Mista sauntered over to the desk clerk, since model or not he needed to find Giorno.

"Ahem, uh I'm looking for a nurse named Giorno?"

The woman was silently staring (as much as he could tell) at him. It was a little unnerving.

"He... uh gets off at 5:30 and uh am I in the right spot? To meet him or whatever?"

Her face hadn't even twitched. Mista was beyond intimidated at this point, this was no longer a good idea. Her sunglasses still pointed in his general direction, the lady reached a manicured finger down to press a button on her phone, leaning down just enough to give a dramatic "GioGio! front desk!"

She had to have been an actress at some point.

Settling back, "well? Are you going to crowd my desk forever or do you need something else to do? Go find a chair to hang about!"

Scratch that, she had been a drill instructor at some point.

Stepping back, Mista managed an eloquent "uh" before a staff only door to his right opened.


The blond came out, smile on his face, and in normal clothing. Well... mostly normal. He was wearing a navy what-was-probably-a-blouse with gold embroidery and what looked like a heart-shaped cutout in the chest and super skinny jeans. Making his way to the desk only to lean over and kiss the cheek of the hot actress drill sergeant.

"Ciao, nona Lisa."

"Ciao, GioGio, enjoy yourself."

Were they family? He didn't have time to ask before the blond slipped an arm around his elbow, half-leading him out. Another time then.

Stepping outside into the parking lot, Giorno finally asked, "so where are you going to take me, Mista?"

"Well uh, dinner first, and then uhm it's a bit of a surprise."


"Yeah, it's a great Italian place, if that's cool with you."

"It sounds lovely. Which car is yours?"

"It's actually," stopping in front of his bike and handing the blonde the extra helmet, "this?"

Mista was beginning to think that he probably should have just borrowed a car with the surprised look the other was giving the helmet. Until he broke into a wide smile, glancing up with eyes crinkling around the edges.

"Oh, my father is going to absolutely loathe you."

"Uh, is that... you say that like it's a good thing?"

The blond only chuckled, "it's fine, dinner then?"

"Yeah, sure."

Getting himself and Giorno situated on the motorcycle, the gunman set off for the first destination.

Tonio's restaurant was, quite frankly, in a horrible location.

Tucked between a shady barber-shop and a condemned former apartment building that was supposedly haunted, it was not only in a sketchier part of town, but also right across from a graveyard.

It was also the single most amazing eatery for probably a hundred miles.

Mista just hoped the blond wouldn't be too put-off by the scenery. Parking in the crumbling parking lot to the side of the rather homey brick building, the gangster helped his date off his bike and into the restaurant proper. The inside was leagues more welcoming than the outside, with fine art on the walls, potted plants everywhere, even a fireplace; as well as the delicious smells of Tonio's cooking. They were greeted at the door by a waitress with wavy black hair that, even pulled up, reached past her waist. It was pretty impressive, but the bored monotone and disdainful looks were a bit much.Looking around the restaurant was pretty packed, but damn if Mista hadn't thought ahead and made a reservation beforehand.

He really wanted this to go well. And so far so good. Between the shared appetizer, good wine, and good food, things were going smoothly. Giorno was surprisingly easy to talk to, regardless of the topic. It was nice and Mista was ecstatic, the blond seemed to like the food and his present company.

"You know, I have a nephew who swears by this place, but I had never managed to come here to try it."


"Mhm, he eats here with his partner every Wednesday and Friday when they get off of work. I was almost expecting to see him here."

"Hmm, wonder if we beat him or just missed him then. So what's your nephew do?"

"Oh, he's a police officer."

Mista's eyes widened, "he's a what-"


Looking over, almost on cue, two police officers... with pompadours... were vigorously waving at the blond, who politely waved back. Oh shit.

"I suppose we did beat him here."

As Mista began to nervously fidget, the two made their way over to the table. Oh shit, oh shit.

"It's been so long! Finally trying out Tonio's I see!"

"Yes, you were right, the food is quite excellent."

"See? I knew you'd like it. Who's your friend?"

The man with the larger pompadour looked over at Mista, who was looking at the exit.

"Josuke, Okuyasu, this is Guido Mista."

Mista gave a squeaky, "nice to meet you."

It was not nice to meet Josuke and Okuyasu.

The police officer squinted, "huh... you uh, look kind of familiar? Doesn't he, Okuyasu?"

"Hmm, he does now that you mention it."

"Hey can we see-"

"Ahem," the blonds eyebrows were quirked upwards, a light pout on his lips, "I'm in the middle of a date right now, Josuke. Do you mind?"

Josuke immediately backpedaled, "ah, sorry, sorry, I'm off the clock right now too. It was good to meet you, have fun on your date, Giorno!"

"You need to visit sometime, we got a pet cat now!"

"Oh? I'll let you know when I have time. Take care."

Now that the two police officers(!!!) were gone, Mista could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Getting arrested on the first date would have been embarrassing and probably would've killed his chances at a second. Taking the appearance of law enforcement as a good cue to leave, Mista subtly hurried through paying the bill, eager to distance himself from the officers in the restaurant. As they put their helmets back on, Giorno grabbed the others tan hand.

"Thank you for the dinner, Mista. Where are we going now?"

The gunman couldn't help but grin, "it's a surprise, Giorno. Trust me though, you'll love it."

Kicking off, Mista maneuvered his way further into the downtown area, towards the city park. On the edge of the lush campus stood a brand new glass and steel building: the Higashikata Memorial Botanical Garden. It was impressively modern, art and landscaping surrounding the entire building.

Mista felt Giorno's hands on his sides tighten, "is this the surprise?"

Mista chuckled, deftly parking closeby, "it is."

Whipping out the tickets from his pocket and showing them off the blond, who was practically vibrating with poorly concealed excitement.

"I've been wanting to go for quite awhile, but never had any spare time."

The blond grasped his hand and entwined his fingers, "thank you, Guido."

Holy shit, he was gonna turn to mush at this rate. The blond was even more adorable when he was excited and while Mista didn't really care for plants, he did care about Giorno. Once they were in the actual botanical garden though, and his dates' eyes lit up at the sheer variety of flowers, he found himself not minding the plant-life too much at all. Not if they made someone he liked so happy. Giving the blonds hands a squeeze, they made their way through the aisles of foliage.

Giorno had to stop and look at and read the placard of every single one, as if committing each to memory. Mista had to suppress his grins and stare at Giorno with each one. Early on they began commenting and sometimes rating each plant.

"Oh a tiger lily! I believe that's an automatic ten."

"Wait, what! Why? That's the first ten you've given anything!"

"It matches your pants."

"Har, har. I'm not even wearing those today though."

"I know. It's quite a shame actually."

Their tour throughout the facility lasted hours, finally ending when a closing notice was sent over the loudspeakers. It was over so soon?

There was still one last thing to do though... two if he got lucky.

Pulling the blond along to the front of the botanical garden, they headed out to a side area of the park. Quickly spotting the pastel blue and cream parasol of the cold treat vendor. Mista had never been too fond of Ghiacco, but he had some damn good stuff; selling everything from sweet ice creams, sherberts, gelato, and the occasional packet of cocaine.

Giorno didn't need to know about that last one though.

Sauntering up to the stoic vendor, "Ghiacco, long time no see, how ya been?"

"Ah. Mista. I hate this place, why do they call it a memorial botanical garden if nobody died?" It makes no sense."

Mista blinked, right yeah that might be why he didn't visit as often. The guy once threw a table at someone for mispronouncing Paris. He didn't take colloquialisms, word play, or figures of speech very well.

"Right yeah, dunno what to tell ya, buddy, but can I get mint and, Giorno-"

"The triple chocolate, please."

Treats in hand the two made their way over to a quiet bench, eating in near silence sitting with their shoulders brushing. There were people passing them by, and the lamplight along the paths made it feel warmer than it was. It was peaceful and oddly secluded.

"Mista," the blond started, hair gaining a halo in the soft light, "thank you for tonight. It was... well absolutely marvelous."

Threading his fingers with Giorno's pale, and surprisingly cold ones, "I'm glad you had a good time, I really am."

The blond smiled again, a full toothy grin that had his cheeks dimpling, "you sound so serious even though you have ice cream smeared all over your face."

"Wait, what!? I do-mmpf!?"

Giorno had closed the scant distance between them, pressing his soft lips to Mista's slightly chapped ones. It was chaste, and sticky with sugar, and so sweet. He'd been had, and this was kind of a reversal from his earlier dreams, but he couldn't bring himself to mind very much. Not when Giorno hummed when the gangster deepened the kiss, raising a pale hand to a tan jaw. Mista's mind was flatlining, Giorno was kissing him and enjoying himself and this night had officially gone better than he'd ever expected. When the blond finally pulled away, hand sliding back to thread in the short black hair of Mista's neck, his cheeks were flushed and lips kiss swollen.

He looked amazing.

"Mista, will you-"

"So this is where you were, Master Giorno."

Mista reeled back with an undignified squawk as a really buff man suddenly materialized behind their bench. It was late September and by no means warm. It was officially jacket weather and this asshole was wearing a velvet leotard, a tiny-ass vest, and knee high boots, complete with a tiny heart headband.

"Vanilla, why are you here? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Your father was expecting you tonight, several hours ago."

"I wasn't planning on visiting him tonight, I told him this."

Vanilla stared, "will I see you back at the manor then?"

"No I already-oof" the blond had been unceremoniously picked up and thrown over Vanilla's shoulder.

"Ah! Giorno-" the gangster was already reaching for his pistol.

The blond merely sighed, "it's fine, I'll just text you later okay?"

Giorno gave a melancholy wave from Vanilla's shoulder, Mista's shoulders slumped a bit as he returned the wave and was left on the park bench. He was expecting rain or a bike splash, like in the movies. Not an eccentric pro-wrestler. The chime of his phone pulled his attention, eyes widening when he saw:

"Tuesday at noon, at Mountain Tim Horton's?"

Mista couldn't reply fast enough.

"Everything was going so good, Buccellati, he loved everything we did, right-"

"Sounds like it."

"And at the end like, we hit up Ghiacco's stand-"

"How is he, by the way?"

"Weird as always, think he needs a new spot. Anyway, so we are chillin' on a bench right, all to ourselves, and next thing I know he's kising me-", an audible gasp, "-and we are making out right, and then this guy- he just comes up outta who knows where, and like loads Giorno up on his shoulder and just, walks away."

"Did... your date get kidnapped, right in front of you?"

"No, at least I don't think so? They knew each other and it kinda seemed like this happened often? Something about visiting his dad or whatever."

"That's so very strange though, Mista."

"Right!? But! He asked me out this time! This Tuesday!"

"Mista," Buccellati placed a firm hand on his shoulder, "I'm very happy for you. Everyone deserves someone special."

Mista blinked his watery eyes with a "thanks boss" as Bruno chugged the last of his wine.

He had three and a half days before his next date and he was already nervous and excited. Even almost getting arrested and being cockblocked by a beefy dude with horrible clothing choices couldn't negate how well he thought his first date had gone.

Chapter Text

Things were going fantastic.

Their date at Mountain Tim Horton's was a casual get-to-know-you-better, which led to a meet up and make-out session at the theater for the newest James Bond movie, and then a date at a mysterious tea shop run by a kindly Egyptian man. It was safe to say they were going pretty steady. And now, a week away from Halloween, Mista found himself looking through his seventh Pinterest board across from his gorgeous blond boyfriend, who was sipping from a 75% sugar 25% coffee latte, in the booth of the tiny cafe wedged into the Hierophant Bookstore.
It, like everything in this town, was bizarre. Between its maze-like layout, pastry items that all had cherries (no other fruit), and the weird... artifacts on the walls and high up on shelves it made for an interesting experience. The blond in question had asked to meet him here though, for supposedly very important business.

The important business turned out to be a brainstorm session for a couples Halloween costume, which Mista was both super flattered that Giorno wanted to do with him, but was also kind of confused at the significance. Halloween was apparently incredibly important to the blond, so much so that he had gotten mildly offended by Mista's lack of enthusiasm.

Moving on to the eighth Pinterest board link Giorno sent, the gunman gave a slightly hesitant, "so uh, what exactly am I looking for here?"

"The most impressive costume you can find. We need to look good for this."

"For like a party or..."

"Both. My papa has a party every year, and I'd like for you to come."

"Isn't he gonna hate me though?"

"Hmm? No, I doubt he could hate anyone. He's a very gentle and caring individual."

"But, didn't you say your father would loathe me at one point?"

"Yes, my father will, but my papa won't."

Mista's mind was struggling to comprehend, "you- do you have two dads?"

Giorno cocked his head slightly, "yes. I could have sworn I had told you at some point."

"I definitely woulda remembered if you did. How does uh, that even work?"

Giorno chuckled, "it's rather complicated, but I can assure you, he is quite more amiable than the other one. You'll have a lovely time and I can show you off to the better half of my family."

Mista blushed a little, "you wanna show me off?"

"Mhm so pick something good. We'll go trick-or-treating beforehand too, so keep that in mind."

"Hehe, okay. You know, I didn't think you'd actually be much for trick-or-treating."

Giorno had carefully set his drink down, straightening his back and leveling his eyes at a now intimidated Mista. Dramatically steeling his gaze and placing a hand above his sternum.

"It is imperative that we capitalize on this holiday. People will be handing out candy, for free, and in great abundance."

He was taking it this serious for candy?

"Especially so, because the street leading up to my Papa's manor is rife with houses that give you more sweets based on the intricacy of your costume. Full length candy bars, Mista, and multiples of them. We must make all the preparations possible."

"Halloween is in like, six days though?"

Giorno brushed it off, "the costumes are of no concern, as I have someone for that. Just find a set that can impress even the most surly person."

"Uhhh, sure, okay."

Returning to the website, Mista continued to scroll down. This one was dedicated to power couple costumes; some nerdy ones, some hilarious joke ones, some cringe-worthy joke ones, about seven Disney ones, until about halfway through he had to squint. Weren't these two from an anime? And if he remembered right, it was one he had walked in on Fugo, Narancia, and Bruno watching and crying over. Mista chuckled and kept scrolling, filing it under a solid maybe. Scrolling past a few inappropriate ones, a Frozen one, a Doctor Who, and a few more, Mista suddenly paused.

"Giorno," the blond gave a hum in acknowledgment, " how familiar are you with Disney movies?"

"I've seen every one of them at least twice. Even the obscure ones."

Perfect, "so would this work?"

Holding the phone and enlarged image up for the blond to inspect.

Blue eyes widened, "absolutely!" Life seemed to fast forward to the day before Halloween and Mista found himself at Giorno's apartment for the first time. It was nice, first and foremost, in a nice neighborhood and building and he even had a welcome mat. Half a year ago the doorknob to Mista's apartment was stolen, and the blond was able to have a welcome mat outside his door. Prying his eyes away from the floral patterned mat and feeling oddly out of place, the gangster gave a pair of brisk knocks to the painted navy door.

Distantly, he heard the patter of feet, before the door opened up, the blond smiling at him. "Guido, you made it here earlier than I thought, come in?"

"Ah, yeah, thanks," pulling off his high boots at the door and shucking off his jacket.

"You wanted me to try on the costume?"

Giorno's eyes were bright, "yes! I think they look wonderful so far, but I want to make sure it fits okay," daintily stealing away his jacket to drape it across his couch.

He'll need to keep an eye on it, as Giorno had already stolen a hoodie and every dessert he'd gotten so far. The blond had a knack for petty theft.

"It's such a simple costume, but ingenious all the same."

Mista could only chuckle, "I did get it from the internet."

Surreptitiously looking around, the first thing he noticed was green. There were flowerpots all over the front room; on end tables, hanging from the ceiling, on the windowsill, all meticulously kept. He also noted the large ornate birdcage with a couple of tweeting song birds and a parakeet. It was so very... Giorno.

"Make yourself at home while I go get it, okay?"

"Sure," as the gunman gingerly sat on the couch.

God, it was a really comfy couch with... was this suede? Damn.

Mista's couch was something from an old grannys house with vintage floral patterns in nauseating colors. He couldn't even remember where he got it. Honestly though, Giorno's apartment was... really nice, so much so that it left him feeling something. Inadequate, maybe. Before he could dwell too much on the leagues of differences between them, Giorno was back, in his own costume and holding a bundle of fabric.

"You do have black shoes and a black belt, yes?"

"Yeah and this looks good on you!" It really did, he looked perfectly in character, red shirt and everything.

"You think so?"

"Of course, I've never seen your hair down before."

"It's strange for me too, but here, try these on for me."

The blond hadn't even waited for a go ahead before he was forcibly helping the gangster out of his clothes, brushing aside squawked, blushing protests. In the end Mista was left standing in costume, out of breath and slightly wobbly, as Giorno surveyed his handiwork.

Together they were a perfect set of Miguel and Tulio from the Road to El Dorado.

"He really does do a wonderful job. These almost perfectly suit us too. Magnificent, really."

Mista quirked thick eyebrows, inspecting the costume "they do match up pretty good. You uh, think I look good though?"

"Oh, absolutely," the blond practically purred, wrapping pale arms around the others tan neck, "tomorrow will be fantastic. Although I'm not much for this ship..."

Large hands gripping soft hips, and then slipping down to cop a squeezing feel, Mista pressed into Giorno capturing plump lips half-parted. He really did have a nice ass. The blond eagerly opened his mouth, giving a soft hum as fingers tangled in the short hairs at the base of Mista's neck.

He had just slid a thigh between the blonds legs, who was in the middle of removing the gangsters top, when Giorno's phone rang.

It was... some sort of weird guitar riff, but it had the blond scrambling to answer. Mista couldn't help but tip his head back in frustration as Giorno gave an angry "pronto?" into the mobile.
Pinched up scowl lightening with a sigh, "I understand. I'll be in shortly."

"Gotta go?"

"There's a shortage at the hospital, so I'm needed to come in."

"Bummer, I'll meet you tomorrow?"

A small smile, before pink lips were on his, "I can hardly wait."

Mista reluctantly left the blonds apartment, costume in hand, as a notification sounded on his phone. Followed by a dozen more in rapid succession. Finally getting to a stopping spot at his apartment, he checked his messages.

Gucci Gang Group Messaging
From Boss Bruno: As a reminder, the Passione Halloween party is at 8 PM, at Nero's place. Costumes optional, but encouraged under penalty of harassment. Take care. Ari Ari Arividerci.
From Problem Child: neros place is trash
From Problem Child: why is it always his place
From the Gremlin::'D
From Boss Bruno: His place is large enough and very well decorated. His commitment to Halloween is impressive. Ari Ari Arividerci.
From Hot Topic: I love it more.
From the Gremlin: :O
From Problem Child: abbas dedication is better
From Hot Topic: Thank you.
From Boss Bruno: Regardless of anyone's dedication to the holiday, the party is in an hour and a half. Ari Ari Arividerci.
From the Gremlin: ;)
From Problem child: fine b there at 9
From Boss Bruno: The party is at 8. Ari Ari Arividerci.
From Problem Child: i know

Mista had forgotten all about the gang Halloween party. Always taking place before the actual holiday (to allow for people to go to other parties on the actual day) it had been a staple for years. The host, Risotto Nero, ran a Passione owned body mod shop, and was generally an interesting guy. He took his image very seriously. He also took Halloween very seriously, pretty much designating the entire month of October to it. As such, to not come in a costume, and a good one, was almost sacrilegious.

Vinegar Doppio didn't have one last year and Nero slammed his head into the punch bowl, which almost led to a full on civil war, saved only by the careful timing of the bosses daughter. Unless he wanted to be the next victim, Mista would need to scrounge up a costume. He could use Giorno's, but quickly scrapped the idea. This was something special, between him and the blond. Plus Giorno would kill him if anything happened to it before they went out tomorrow.

Last year Mista had gone for easy and low input; dressing up in a tacky set of cheap wolf ears and tail and using his natural hairiness to his advantage. Nero had commended him on his creativity, for some reason, and he got away with his it somehow. The guy remembered every costume ever though, so repeats were out of the question. He had an hour and seventeen minutes though.
Digging through his closets, boxes, and drawers Mista came up with a faux fur coat he never wore, two pairs of aviators, a pink feather boa, a crop v-neck with a bedazzled tiger on it (he'd been looking for this for years!), a few capsules of dried fake blood, the wolf ears and tail, a set of handcuffs (he wondered if Giorno would be into them...), some sheets of fake flower and rainbow tattoos, a gaudy fake gold chain, a gaudy pink chain (from Fugo, probably), a belt buckle with Hello Kitty on it (wait, this was Narancia's), and a pretty princess tiara (where did this come from).
His options were... a princess with strange kinks?

A... oh shit. He knew what he could be.

Mista arrived at Nero's house at approximately 8:05. Approximately because he had originally arrived at 8:04 and had to freak out on the sidewalk for a little bit until a minute passed. For a body mod guy, Nero was hella loaded if the multi-story sprawling manor was any indicator. The house was also completely covered in decorations. It was startlingly impressive and a tad bit overbearing. The man loved his spooky holiday. Dodging 3 animatronics (and only squealing once), a few odd hanging plastic spiders, and an inflatable mummy caught by the wind, Mista managed his way up to the front entrance, hand raised to knock only for the door to open immediately.

Risotto Nero was ridiculously tall, serious, gaunt, and had modded his eyes so the sclera was black and his pupils a nice blood red. He also had no facial expressions. Last year, he had a very convincing Jack Skellington costume, but got mad when people tried to get him to sing. He must have sworn off fun characters after that because this year he was a full scale demon. It was really a great costume, really well done, so much so that Mista only startled a little bit.

"G-great costume, Nero, really detailed, you outdid yourself this year."

"Thank you," oh man, Mista forgot the monotone too, "the Diablo games are my favorite."

"Oh yeah? Hehe, didn't know you were much of a gamer."

"Yes, I like Dead Space, Doom, and Stardew Valley too. You should add me sometime."

Wait, was that last one?

"Mista! You bastard!"

Finding the owner of the voice, Mista gaped, "Narancia, what the hell!"

"What the hell yourself! What's the big idea, stealin' my costume idea!?"

"You can't steal somethin' you don't know about, besides I definitely pull it off better."

"You do not! I'll cut you up if you don't change!" The shorter man pulling out his switchblade for good measure.

The two were now in front of each other and... both dressed like pimps.

Fur coats, gaudy jewelry and feather boas, but Narancia had a hat and cane, while Mista had just styled his hair slightly and wore everything he owned with a tiger on it. Fugo had stepped out of the kitchen, in an absurd amount of fishnets and leather, sighing and hiding his face.

"I knew this was a dumb couples costume."

"Are you supposed to be like a prostitute or somethin'?"


"Hey, I'm not sharin'! Go find your own!"

"What the hell does that even mean!?"

It was around 1 in the morning when Mista finally left, slightly buzzed and with a small baggie of candy and... weed. He'd need to get rid of that before he gave the sweets to Giorno as the blond would not be amused. Prosciutto was really pushing for sales this year. Bruno dropped him off at his apartment complex with a 'drink lots of water before you sleep' and a light wave before zooming off.
Stumbling through his front door- so he may have been drunk rather than buzzed- Mista shucked all of his clothing on his way to get a shower. He was covered in sweat, alcohol, fake fur, and glitter. Freaking Pesci, always bringing glitter to things. The hot shower only helped make him sleepier, but he was at least clean enough to be able to sleep in his bed and not have to change the sheets in the morning.

Gracefully nearly tripping out of his shower and bumping into his couch, a coffee table, and two door-frames, Mista fumbled for his phone and headed to bed. He had a message from Narancia ("sry i called u a bastard but dont u ever steal my ideas again!"), a message from Bruno ("remember to take some tylenol in the morning :) Ari Ari Arividerci), and two messages from Giorno ("Meet me at my apartment at 6 PM sharp tomorrow, in costume please!" "Have fun with your friends, hope I don't see you at the ER tonight").

Oh man, he was so excited for tomorrow! He was gonna go hang out with Giorno, and go to another party, and meet his dad! Oh shit, he was gonna meet Giorno's dad! Mista was now both excited and terrified.

He fell asleep almost immediately.

It was 5:45 and the day had passed in a blur after he had worked off his hangover and prepared for the evening. Which had left him standing in full costume back outside of Giorno's apartment about 15 minutes early. The blond had never really seemed to care too much though, so he went on ahead and gave the door a light tap, which opened almost immediately.
"Mista, you are right on time," the blond was also in his full costume which... damn he looked really good.

Pulling the gunman in, the blond greeted him with a kiss... that was really itchy.

"Giorno, that fake facial hair you got on is really scratchy, what is it?"

"Oh, I had bought it at the Halloween store, so probably something awful and cheap. I can't seem to actually grow any of my own though..."

"Hey, that's alright. You'd look weird with a beard anyway."

The blond rolled his eyes, "thank you, Mista. Are you ready?"

"As ever. Let's go get your sugar fix."

Instead of heading towards the parking lot, the blond led towards the crosswalk with an "I live rather close by."

True enough most of the buildings on this side of the complex had evened out into a suburb full of old houses and older money. Giorno lived in such a high class area, it made the gangster nervous about possibly having him over at his own less than stellar place at some point.

The first few stops were at homes owned by very old people, who had no idea who they were but thought they had 'such lovely outfits' and handed them a few peppermints and saltwater taffies. Passing kids would suddenly find their bags missing some chocolate, replaced by unwanted treats.

The next house had a middle aged woman dressed as a fairy who absolutely lost it at their outfits.

"Oh my! Giorno, such a great costume, from one of my favorite movies too! Jotaro, come look!"

"You have a wonderful costume this year too, Mrs. Holly,” the blond said, preening at the praise.

As the lady stuffed handfuls of Snickers and KitKats into their candy buckets, an absolute monolith appeared from behind her.

The blonds eyes narrowed, "Jotaro."

Holly continued puttering around them, offering snacks and treats, which Mista took in Giorno's stead as he seemed preoccupied with staring down the mountain still trapped in the house.
After several incredibly tense minutes, Giorno turned away with a "see you at the manor, take care, Holly." Receiving a grunt and a myriad of farewells in response.

Moving on to the next house, Mista couldn't help his curiosity, "so uh, what was that about? Also I saved you a cupcake."

The blond managed to inhale the treat with a surprising amount of manners and finesse.

"He's my great grand-nephew."

Mista's brain was struggling to follow.

He was only good at actual math, family math had never been his strong suit, and "what is up with your family tree?"

The blond tugged them towards the next stop, "It's complicated."

Shrugging, Mista allowed himself to be pulled along to a few more houses by the blond, buckets rapidly filling with more large candy bars, expensive treats, and holy shit was that Godiva? Eventually they reached the final house on the street, completely barren of any sort of festive décor, but Giorno made his way up the short walk regardless and briskly knocked. The door to the undecorated house was opened by a very gaunt fellow who wasn't actually in costume either. Did... did he know it was Halloween?

"Ah, the second least annoying Joestar."

"Hello to you too, Rohan-sensei."

"Hmph. An homage to Disney's Road to El Dorado, released in 2000, hm? It's impressive, I'll give you that,” accompanied by crossed arms and a mildly irritable huff as several king-sized candy made it's way to their pails.

Giorno looked beyond smug with his haul.

“Thank you. Will you be attending the Joestar Hallows Eve party with Josuke this year?”

“Maybe. Possibly. Later I suppose. I have a lot of manuscripts to finish.”

Giorno chuckled, “I believe Ms. Higashikata made a cake this year, and Mrs. Holly provided some of her home cooked-”

“I'll go. But only for a short while, and strictly for research material.”

“I'll see you there then,” as the door was politely slammed.

So it wasn't just Giorno that was loaded, his entire family must have been rolling in cash given the size of his dad's Victorian style mansion at the end of the street.
Mista had really only seen this type of place from the outside or in movies, never actually having been in one before. It was impressive and a bit intimidating, but the eager blond pulling him along had awe melt into nervousness. He was going to be meeting Giorno's family for the first time. He was going to meet one of Giorno's dads. He might throw up.

Led up the stone stairs leading to the front door, passing the really tame but heartfelt decorations in the yard and on the door, the blond simply opened the door and walked in like it was his birthright. It actually probably was though, to be fair. The inside was posh and riddled with... stuff. What looked like junk from a museum, art, and taxidermy of all manner of animals littered the interior, interspersed around cartoonish and silly Halloween decorations. They were greeted almost immediately by a blond lady sticking her head out from an adjacent room. She could honestly have passed as Giorno's mother, and was dressed like Cinderella.

"Giorno! You made it! How wonderful, who is your friend?"

"Good evening, Erina. This is my boyfriend, Guido Mista," as the gangster dutifully waved and gave a hello of his own.

The blond lady clapped her hands together in delight, turning her head back into the side room she popped out of, "Jojo, Giorno is here!"

This summoned a hulk of a man, who practically barreled around the corner. Jotaro had nothing on the sheer size of him. He was also dressed in the most cliché vampire costume on the market.

"Papa, I brought my boyfriend, Guido, with me."

Wait, this colossus was Giorno's dad!?

The eyes were the same, as was the nose and dimpling smile, but the size difference... it was almost unreal. Would his cute, slightly shorter and much less muscle-bound angel eventually grow into his body builder genetics? The flashing image of a buff Giorno had him frozen as the father and son exchanged pleasantries beside him.

"It's wonderful of you to come and celebrate with us!"

Mista was snapped out of his dayterror just in time, giving a "It's nice of you to have me uh-"

A large hand came and rested on his shoulder, "Jonathan Joestar, and it's good to meet you. Please, make yourself welcome!"


Wait... the Jonathan Joestar? Millionaire philanthropist archaeologist who did all that stuff with Speedwagon? Media darling who owned half the city and generally all around famous guy Jonathan Joestar, was one of Giornos dads? Holy shit, Mista had heard of an impressive pedigree, but this was almost... cheating.

“You know I really did love that movie! I just love movies about historical civilizations, and they took such care with many of the details and while I didn't quit approve of the motives, it was so entertaining!” Jonathan looked like a kid in a candy shop. A very large kid in a candy shop.

“You have an interesting costume this year too, Papa.”

“Thank you! Vampires are quite fascinating, as many cultures have some sort of similar mythos! But, they are quite silly in concept,” with a hearty chuckle that sounded similar to Giorno's but much deeper.

The beefcake Giorno image was beginning to resurface in Mista's head.

The sound of the doorbell caught Jonathans attention, shuffling his bulky frame over to go and enthusiastically greet the trick-or-treaters at the stoop.

"Come, Mista, let's go meet the others,” Giorno was pulling incessantly at his arm.

"Uh, yeah okay."

The- holy shit was this a ballroom- was lined with couches, love-seats, assorted other chairs, and several long tables full of foods, treats and more cute Halloween decor. It was also packed with people.
There was a truly impressive Indiana Jones costume worn by an older gentleman who was talking to another older gentleman in a Monopoly man costume. A guy dressed as a sailor talking to... how was Jotaro here? And where was his costume? Did he pass them at some point? One guy with bear ears and yellow shorts carrying another guy with a bunch of red feathers stuck all over his body with blue pants on.

Wait he knew the bear guy, he was an underground doctor and assassin.

And he recognized Anasui and Weather across the room standing next to that Jolyne, head of G.D.S.

Holy shit, half of Giorno's family was in or affiliated with a gang.

A red solo cup of something made it's way into his hands as Giorno flitted to the nearby stack of adorable ghost marshmallow cakes and gracefully shoved a few in his mouth. Boy loved his sugar. And boy did he love this boy. Mista took a swig of his mystery drink marveling at how damn sweet it was. And alcoholic.
This was going to be a fun night.

When he finished his spiked probably-punch and Giorno had finished mauling the eclairs, he was immediately whisked away to meet the family and their respective invitees.

“Mista, this is Joseph, I call him an Uncle but it's kind if the reverse,” As Indiana Jones greeted him in return.
“Wait, what-”

“And this is Uncle Speedy, and you've already met Zeppeli,” no time for a greeting as he was given another cup of punch and was whisked away with a polite farewell.

“You've already met Josuke and Okuyasu, but this is Koichi and his fiance Yukako,” They had a very convincing Power Rangers group costume going on, short one Ranger because 'Rohan is an asshole and Mikitaka can't be trusted'.

Mista downed his cup in lieu of a real reply, giving a wave as he was dragged over to- “This is my cousin twice removed, Johnny.”

“Cazzo! What the hell!” Gyro Zeppeli frowned at the same time as Mista exclaimed “Gyro! What the hell?”

Giorno was still all smiles, Johnny rolling his eyes, as the two criminals bickered lowly in Italian. Eventually the blond pulled Mista away, third cup of fruity alcohol finding it's way into his hands. This time Giorno drank it all, but was swiftly replaced with a 'I probably should have gotten my own, but there are a few more to meet'.
How much family did he have!?

Their next stop was at Jotaro and the sailor, the former giving a chilly unwelcoming glare that was unnervingly similar to Giorno's.

“Jotaro,” a pause and a staredown before, “Gappy, this is Mista.”

Jotaro stared as Gappy(?) shook his hand, before smiling.

“It's good to meet you,” ah, so that's why he was called that.

Giorno then bid them farewell with a polite wave, dragging Mista with him to the punch bowl where he then chugged several cups of punch. Mista joining in, because why was everyone in this family intimidating and gorgeous.

“Last but not least, Jolyne,” wobbly tugging Mista over to oh shit, it was Jolyne.

Mista once heard a rumor that she beat up someone so bad, they could only remember three things at a time. She was also smoking hot. And wasn't that the nurse who gave him food that one time standing next to her?

Mista needed another drink.

“Giorno, is that your boy,” she asked with the widest shit-eating grin.

“Mhmm,” the blonds lips curved up in a smile, “Guido Mista- would you believe he asked me out while dying from being shot in the chest?”

Jolyne punched him in the arm, in what was probably meant to be a playful tap but felt like a tank, “oh you dog. You two are disgustingly adorable together.”

Mista could only scratch his head and blush as Jolyne practically cackled. Anasui looked pissed again, held back by Weather's hand on his shoulder. Oh god, was he gonna die?

After more pleasantries with more people, a lot more punch, and one last trip to the cupcakes, Giorno was practically leaning on him. It was nearing midnight and everyone was starting to trickle out. Finding his father, the blond bid him farewell, the mountains massive arms practically engulfing his son in a bone crushing hug as Giornos arms barely got around his sides. It was both stupidly hilarious and really cute.

Making their way out into the cool night air, pale hand wrapped solidly around his tan one on the way back to the blond's apartment, Mista was preparing to say his goodbyes as well.
“You should come home with me,” The blonds cheeks were flushed, his eyes a little foggy.

“But I'm uh, we are already at your home?” Mistas inebriated brain was barely functioning.

“No, as in, stay the night with me,” Giorno was practically pouting and holy shit- was he... drunk?

Mista was definitely drunk, but the blond was too and it probably wouldn't be good and god it sounded like a good idea.

“Uh- I mean, are you- but we're all, that punch was spiked? And are you sure-,” words were hard.

Giorno rolled his eyes, before straightening- kind of- and summoned that haughty and intimidating attitude that had Mista pretty much doing whatever he wanted, “Mista, I want to have sex with you. I wanted to for weeks. Indulge me.”

Well shit, no helping it then, “well shit. Okay, uh if you want.”

The blond immediately wrapped his arms around the gunmans broad shoulders, fervently and messily kissing him. Somehow they maneuvered their way into the apartment, barely detaching on the trip to the bedroom, at the blonds behest. The costumes were stripped by wandering hands until both were left in just loose pants. Pale hands raking through the coarse hair of Mistas stomach and arms as the other fumbled with the buckle. Abruptly, the blond paused, going wide-eyed and grasping the gangsters wrists.
“Mista- wait,” Giorno looked panicked for once.

The gangster immediately stopped his miserable attempt at unbuckling to give a worried, “what's wrong? What's- you okay?”

Panic turned to serious, the kind that had Mista in a nervous sweat, “You must promise me something.”

Mista's hands were shaking slightly, “uh- a-anything?”

“You can't laugh. No matter what.”

“Giorno, what's-”


Mista's brain was struggling, and the alcohol had his mouth working before anything else could catch up. Oh god, Drunk Mista was holding the reins and was slurring some words together, something that would either end very well or very poorly.

“Giorno, you're my pretty apple in my heart and you're the first person to make me wanna eat ass and I could never laugh at you. I don't care what you got in your pants- 'cause I like your heart pants more, and I think I love you.”

Giorno went silent, and Mista began to get nervous. That was a hell of a... heartfelt... confession of love? Baby blue eyes were shining slightly, lower lip trembling, and the flush around his cheeks had deepened. Oh god, he fucked up, he fucked up so bad.

“You really mean that- that you love me?”

Uh, “'f course I do.”

A soft smile broke through, as the blond moved his hands to cup Mista's jaw, pulling him down for a chaste and sweet kiss. The gangster was more than happy to oblige, deepening and nipping as he was propped over the blond, eventually moving a hand to roam over the blonds soft stomach and around a hip.

“I still don't want you to laugh,” the blond whispered.

“I won't, I promise,” Mista breathed into the blonds ear, getting a shiver in response.

Sitting back up , Mista went back to unbuckling and depantsing Giorno, who moved an arm to cover his eyes. Triumphantly flinging the offending garment somewhere else, Mista looked back only to pause.

“Giorno...are these-”

“Yes, I forgot I was wearing them tonight.”

He was wearing My Little Pony boxer briefs, Fluttershy looking up at him.

“Josuke- he introduced me to the show... I like her, she's the best- best pony... he has Rainbow Dash ones...” Giorno was beet red from under where his arm was poorly concealing his face.

“I don't really need to know which ones he has, but thanks,” Mista stared downwards.

Yeah, he couldn't work with these- abruptly sliding them off the blond and tossing them away, leaving him spluttering and naked.

“Sorry Giorno, but I don't wanna have a pony watch me suck your dick.”

Chapter Text

Mista was on top of the world.

Things were going so good, and he found himself whistling a vibrant little tune as he worked. Giorno had inspired a... something, inside him, a desire to do and be better. He had nothing more than a high school education that was spotty at best, and a brief stint in prison for terrifying charges mysteriously dropped after a few months. Giorno did not know about any of that yet though, and he was content to leave it that way for a little while longer. But Mista had picked up an average Law-Abiding Citizen job; a legal one that paid taxes and had a visible management system that didn't operate on cryptic emails and letters. He was stocking shelves, but because of his obsession with numbers, had been stuck at the cash register more often than not.

It was a simple... and sort of lame job, but it made him feel a bit more responsible and worthwhile to Giorno. Not everyone could juggle so much after all. The gangster found himself sighing wistfully as he poured the rest of the gasoline on the hardwood floor, smiling at a vase full of fake lillies on the expensive coffee table. He was thinking about Giorno again, his beautiful angel. Plastic container emptied, he tossed it aside before stepping over to his bound captive.

He already raided the safe, study, and gotten all the files, money, and other valuables, now it was a matter of destroying evidence. You'd think such a crooked guy would have better security, but between Abbachio destroying his security systems and Mista taking out his measly few body guards, the man was pretty easy pickings. Then again not everyone was Leone Abbachio or Guido Mista. Stuffing his hands down his pockets and pulling out a packet of matches, Mista was interrupted by the chime of a ringtone specifically chosen for one person.

Fumbling to get the phone to his ear as fast as he could without giving himself a concussion, "hey babe!"

Light and static crinkled chuckles, "Mista, are you busy with anything right now?"

His captive, duct-taped and zip-tied to a chair, had begun giving a muffled shout, rocking in his seat to try and be heard over the phone. Mista cooly pressed his revolver into the mans balding head, silencing him rather effectively.

"No, not at all, what's up?"

"My family is having a big dinner in the next week, on Thursday. An invitation was extended to you as well."

"Oh, yeah?"

Cool, he'd get to hang with Jonathan and probably the other Joestars again, with the added bonus of not being inebriated.

"Mhm, my father personally wants to meet you."

"Oh, sure-" wait.

Jonathan already knew him? Unless, he meant the other dad... the one that would hate him?

"Lovely, do make sure to have a suit, tailored, preferably, and meet me at my place at 5."


Seemingly satisfied, the blond ended the call leaving the gunman sighing into the dial tone. Pocketing his phone, Mista turned back to his captive, who was sweating bullets. Ha!

"Man, you would not believe my luck," waving his gun a bit to the added terror of the aging man, "there's this beautiful angel right, and I get to be the one to date him. Gorgeous blue eyes and gold hair and legs for days-"

Mista's dark eyes narrowed at his captive, who began nervously nodding along-

"-and god he's so perfect, but he's got two dads."

Mista went ahead and pulled the matches back out of his pocket, "I mean how does that even work, right?"

The hostage began his muffled screaming and writhing again as the match was lit, "ah well, it's just a family dinner."

Leaving the burning manor behind him, Mista called Bruno, "hey boss, do I got anything goin' on next Thursday?"

Mista had 5 and a half days before the big dinner, and he was already... well, fucked. He didn't own suits, hadn't even been into a store that sold suits, and had no idea how to go about getting one let alone tailored. He was also due for a haircut. He could attempt to figure this sort of shit out on his own, but it was daunting to say in the least.

There was another option though.

Checking his bank account, Mista dialed up the one person he knew could help.


"Hey Trish? Can I get a favour?"

Trish Una was a hurricane in the form of a model-esque socialite. Bright fuchsia hair, expensive brand name clothing and accessories, expert make up and style, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was also the enigmatic bosses daughter. Bruno's gang had worked an escort and guard job for her not too long ago, and so they all had close ties with the fashionista.

Mista both was thankful they still remained in close contact and terrified of actually contacting her.

Trish had much to say about his fashion choices, hygiene, and attitude. All valid points- probably- but it left him feeling a little self conscious, which was something he wasn't too used to feeling before meeting her and later Giorno. But if anyone could get him up to his boyfriends standards, it would be her. The fuchsia haired girl arrived approximately 34 minutes after Mista called, leaving him even more on edge. Practically barging into his dingy apartment, she immediately grabbed the gunman's tan wrist and began dragging him back through the door, stopping only to let him lock up.

"I expect a gelato for this," unlocking her Mercedes-Benz with a key fob smothered in key-chains, "and I want to meet your boy."

That was the worst case scenario, Mista could feel himself start to panic, they would get along too well.

"Do you really gotta do that last part?"

Gulping as brown eyes locked on his with an icy glare.

"Okay, okay, you can meet him sometime but only when I'm there too- wait, no, only when I'm not there."

Trish merely arched her pink eyebrows in response as she peeled out of the parking lot behind Mista's complex, tearing down the streets to the shopping district. By the time she stopped in front of an expensive looking suit store, the gunman had a slight tremble in his hands. He could deal with being shot at, even hit, but damn that woman's driving could break his infamous composure faster than anything. Shakily making his way out of the car he followed Trish into the store, preemptively giving funeral rites to his wallet.

Over the course of three hours, almost four, Mista learned two things: first, he hated suits, and second, his shoulders were broad as hell.

He always kind of knew, but after squeezing his way into fifteen suits while the clerks and tailors watched in fear at the seams, he was beginning to get a grasp on just how ridiculous his musculature was. He had avoided the fourth and eight suit, but Trish was eyeing a sixteenth and he couldn't deal with the numbers right now because he had already been cajoled into the twelfth.

So he pulled the least stuffy suit from the pile, "this one?"

It was a deep and dark red-black as opposed to all the others that were blue-black, or gray-black. Midnight, twilight, soot, and charcoal as Trish had said. Mista wasn't as concerned with color theory. Her lips pulled to the side, hands still holding the next to try on.

Eventually she sighed, "you can't just have normal, nice clothing for once?"

"But, you chose this one?"

Trish remained unimpressed.

"Fine, I suppose. It does suit you."

Mista sighed in relief as she let go of the suit in her hands, walking over to him and calling over the nervous tailor. It wasn't nearly as bright or interesting as his other clothes, but it was certainly better than the dull blacks and grays that filled the rest of the store. Plus Trish had smacked him when he laid eyes on the soft orange pinstripe in the back, so he was stuck with being boring. Then again, he should probably play it safe around Giornos other dad. The thought of meeting him had Mista breaking into a nervous sweat.

"Hey, no sweating on the tailor," Trish snapped.

"What if Giorno's other dad hates me?"

Trish stared, "so? What's he gonna do about it?"

Nonchalantly inspecting her perfectly manicured nails, "the way I see it, his dad does anything to you, Giorno'd probably never forgive him. So yeah, he'll toootally hate you, but he wouldn't want his kid to hate him. You know?"

Mista supposed it made sense in a rather confusing way, but he was still uneasy.

"Mista, hey," Trish had moved in front him, soft hands holding his chin and jaw, "your boy loves you, right?"

Giorno had never said it, but he was never one to really talk about feelings and such, preferring to show his affection through actions.

Mista nodded, so Trish continued, "then no matter what happens, whatever his big scary dad throws at you, he's still gonna love you."

It was a surprisingly sweet gesture from her, and it left Mista wide eyed and unsure how to move. The tailor capitalized on the gangsters indecision and immobility, swiftly taking his measurements before scurrying away from the emotional mafioso.

"Bellisimo, looks like we are all done here, gelato time," pale hands now pinching tan cheeks.

So that was her angle? Man, women were cruel.

What was more cruel was the final bill, mafia discount be damned. So much for getting a new couch sometime soon. Bill paid and pick up date in three days, Trish made her way to a nearby gelateria, not even looking back to see if Mista was following. Ordering one covered in fruits, she went ahead and ordered Mista's usual caffe gelato. It was sweet of her to remember his favorites, but it had him searching for an ulterior motive.

Sure enough, two bites in, "I picked up a modeling contract last Sunday."

Mista paused, spoon halfway in his mouth, "last Sunday? Why not tell us sooner? You got a new security detail or somethin'?"

Trish merely waved a hand, "no, nothing like that. I just didn't want to have the entirety of Passione hanging over me."

"We don't hang over you."

"You kind of do. I wanna be my own person, you know."

Mista did not know, but "okay, yeah I get it. Entirely Passione unrelated. You do got a security detail though right?"

Trish narrowed her eyes, "it's modeling Mista, I don't really need them and if I did, they come with the agency or at the shows."

Mista scrunched his face up a bit, "I still think you could use some security."

Rolling her eyes, Trish got up, "let's get you a haircut, and maybe a full body wax too."

The gunman spluttered, "I'm not getting a wax!"

Especially since Giorno liked his body hair, had said so multiple times while practically burying his face in it on some very memorable occasions.

Mista was currently standing outside Giorno's apartment, fully dressed, cleaned and groomed, and an hour and seven minutes early. He couldn't bring himself to arrive during the 4 PM hour and damn he was a wreck right now.

A quick trio of taps on the door had Giorno pattering over, answering with a surprised, "you are here much earlier than I thought you'd be."

Mista nervously scratched the back of his neck, "yeah uh, I wanted to arrive at a good time."

The blond shook his watch down his wrist, sliding it over to where he could check it, eyebrows quirking up, "right. Well, I still have some work to do to get ready, but you are welcome to come in."

Reaching down and grabbing the gangsters tan hand and pulling him in before he could respond. Well, he was here now, and he still had an hour. Shucking off his boots and suit jacket, he couldn't help nervously brushing fingers through his hair. It was shorter and curled up at the ends in a way he wasn't used to, and the lack of head-wear had him feeling... exposed and uncomfortable.

This suit was uncomfortable, and his head was uncomfortable, and his brain was getting uncomfortable.

He felt ready to break.

Giorno was watching him with a thoughtful look from behind his couch as he brushed out his long hair.

"Mista," dark eyes looked over to meet sea-blue, "you look very handsome."

Nervous fingers stilled, and the blond set down his brush as he walked over to stand in front of the anxious gunman.

As pale hands cupped tan cheeks, Mista squeezed his eyes shut, the buzzing panic in his head still pulling him in different directions, "what's wrong?"

Everything currently. The anxiety of meeting Giorno's dad had him more on edge than a Chihuahua stuck inside a rich woman's purse. This night, this dinner, something was going to go terribly wrong he just knew it. Giorno's hands were chilly on his cheeks though, thumbs running soothing circles onto his skin.

"Somethin's gonna go bad," murmured, "I'm gonna do bad."

There was a heavy pause as Giorno's thumbs stilled, before he began chuckling, "it's a family dinner, of course things are going to go badly."

Mista reached his hands up to wrap around the blond's wrists, "that isn't- not like that-"

"Mista," Giorno whispered against the gunman's lips, "no matter what happens, I'll still be bringing you along to the next family dinner, and the one after that."

Mista couldn't help but blush a bit as he opened his eyes, he had been rather lost in his own head. The blond seemed satisfied with the state of the gunman and wandered off to resume his brushing and prepping.

"Mista, I need a mirror, come with me? I'd like to hear about your day."

They ended up heading out at 5:19, which Giorno assured was perfectly fine. He was apparently never on time to family meals with this side. The blond had also cajoled the gunman to take his motorcycle, a bummer for Mista since he was eyeing his significant others sleek Aston-Martin. With Giorno's directions in his ear, Mista drove his way further and further towards the more luxurious edge of town.

It was also a rival gangs territory if he remembered right.

The sprawling mansion Giorno had him stop at left him gaping, and then panicking. The blond was already happily making his way to the buzzer at the gate before Mista shakily grabbed his slim arm.

"Giorno... what's your dad's name?"

Blond eyebrows quirked up, "Dio Brando."

Oh fuck, Dio Brando? The head of Passione's only rival gang!? Had Mista fucked up in a past life!?

Giorno had seemed unfazed by the gangsters current breakdown, pressing the buzzer, "padre, we're here."

Mista gulped as the gates opened after less than a minute. He was going to die. Maybe even worse if the rumors about Dio Brando were true. Murder, torture, extortion, kidnapping, arson, embezzlement, corruption, drugs; if it could be done Dio Brando and his cohorts had probably either done it or attempted it at least once.

Giorno had already situated himself back on the saddle of the motorcycle behind him though, patting his back in an effort to get him to move like some stalled horse. Mista gulped before his infamous calm composure overtook him. Time to put on his war-face.

Puttering up the stupidly long driveway, the blond directed his stoic boyfriend to a parking spot (helpfully reserved with a placard that said 'GioGio'), before grabbing his tan hand and leading him up the grand staircase to the extravagant front entryway. Knocking once, the blond went ahead and invited himself inside (he really had a weird set of manners). A man with crazy facial hair was behind the door, hand outstretched, but his face betrayed how probably used to this he was.

"Welcome Master Giorno and his... guest. Lord Dio is in the dining hall already."

Giorno was already walking, lightly tugging along a completely bewildered albeit stone-faced Mista. The interior of the mansion was even more unreal with actual art (like from a fancy museum) on the walls and on pedestals, expensive looking rugs, chandeliers, and so much marble. Giorno kept going, but squeezed Mista's hand reassuringly looking back with a soft smile. Wandering into the open archway near the end of the grand foyer, Mista froze.

At the end of a long and ornate table was what could only be Dio Brando. Blond hair just like Giorno's, only amber-red eyes and a cruel sneer. On his left and standing to the side was Vanilla fucking Ice and a priest with weird hair and cold eyes in the seat on his right. There were also only three chairs left, two in front of Vanilla and the other at the end of the table, the other three occupied by a weird assortment of people.

Dio got up and stalked his way over, and Jesus he was massive. Not as gigantic as Jonathan, but the chiseled muscles under his suit were still noticeable somehow. Mista gulped, war-face cracking slightly as Dio loomed over him menacingly.

"Hello padre, I'm gay, and this is my boyfriend, Guido."

Mista was now sweating bullets, Giorno was coming out to his father while he introduced his significant other before a family dinner? Oh god he was fucked.

Dio's eyes slid to Giorno, lips curled into a frown, staring for a moment, before, "I thought you were Giorno? Besides, I, Dio, already knew."

Mista was stunned.

Giorno immediately grabbed the lapel of Dio's suit, "I'm serious!"

Dio sneered, "serious? I thought you were gay? Changing your mind so soon?"

Mista had never seen Giorno look so murderous. Ignoring his fuming son, Dio returned his attention to Mista, furrowing blond brows.

"So you're the ghastly little hellion deflowering my precious son."

One of the other three people sitting a the table, probably a half-brother, piped up, "why aren't we your precious sons too..."

Mista had no idea how to respond. Could he even respond? What do you even say to that? He was saved by the timely arrival of several chefs arriving through a set of swinging double doors pushing carts of silver trays and covered dishes. He'd only seen something like this in cartoons and movies. Dio seemed to relent with his scrutiny before taking his seat back at the head of the table.

"Well, Guido, have a seat why don't you," purring as he pointed a sharp finger at the seat next to the empty chair on his left.

Oh god, Mista had to resist the urge to throw himself out the window as he mechanically took the seat in front of the beefy and expressionless man behind him. He was also now sitting across from a man completely covered in cow print, and it was incredibly nauseatingly painful to look at.

Of all the animal print...

Giorno was standing behind the poor guy, staring holes into the Holstein-man's head until he gave up and quickly moved to the seat at the end of the table. Giorno swiftly took the newly vacated chair, soft smile all the while as Dio frowned harder. Eventually, he sighed and beckoned the cooks over to begin the meal.

The first dish was just a simple appetizer, consisting of some sort of dumpling(?) and some wine, but the plate it was served on... was covered in gold filigree. There was also lobster involved and Mista overheard the chef talk about truffles and some other fancy sounding shit. This tiny plate and its contents probably had a higher net worth than he did.

A foot kicked him lightly under the table, causing him to look up. Giorno had a wry grin and a plate of what looked like fancy mozzarella sticks, and the foot tapping into his was insistent. The blond was taking his time with each morsel, head cocked slightly as he nudged the gunman. Guess that was a cue to eat- and holy shit it was delicious.

The soup and salad went by about the same, stilted conversations between brothers, Giorno smiling at Mista as the priest waxed poetic about Dio or God (it was hard to tell the difference), Dio silently basking in the weird praise. Vanilla Ice was there. It was by far the strangest dinner he'd ever experienced.

When the main entree arrived, a braised boar and something else he missed, Mista was in a cold sweat. It was the fourth course, and something bad was about to happen. It smelled really good, but it was a trap. Giorno was watching him again, socked foot rubbing his leg after falling out of it's shoe at some point. With shaking hands, the gunman cut a tiny sliver of the meat and accompanied veggies, raising it to his mouth-

"So Guido," startling his hand back down with a slight clatter.

"Y-yes, uh sir?"

Dio had his eyes narrowed, lazily drinking from blood red wine. Nobody else had wine that color.

"What exactly do you do?"

There's no way he didn't already know. Mista wasn't entirely well known, but he was recognizable in the underground, he was a hard worker after all. Setting down the silver cutlery, the gangster slipped a little into his calm composure, sipping on his own wine for some help.

"I work odd jobs, and then part time at a store."

Dio was inscrutable, "any education to speak of? Skills? A trade?"

He had dug a hole around the gunman, and now was whittling away at the middle pillar like some old-timey cartoon.

"I got a high school diploma, and uh- I was good at math."

It was the only thing he really excelled at in school- since weightlifting wasn't an actual subject- and what had gotten him through his schooling.

Giorno had pursed his lips in a frown, looking up from his plate of fruits and vegetables, "what's this all about, father?"

Dio had mercifully turned to his son leaving Mista to sigh in relief, "this is the best you could do? A vagrant-"

"Oy, ya filthy sods, Uncle Diego's here," a man in a tight Ralph Lauren sweater, a strange blend of English accents, and with the smile of a blender had triumphantly appeared at the dining hall entryway, "hope ya saved room for a good ole Spotted Dick!"

A fucking what now-

"Diego, you ingrate, you are," a quick check to the Rolex on a thick wrist, " an hour and forty three minutes late."

"Get off it, traffic was shite."

The butler from before appeared behind him, out of breath and panicked, "Master Diego, please, we don't know-"

Dio looked murderous, "did you arrive here riding a horse, again?"

"She's my princess," taking the empty seat at Dio's side and ignoring the terrifying aura emanating from the man, "plus I got that DUI..."

Holy shit who was this person- who suddenly had an arm around the gangster, leering down with a predatory grin, "oh? Who's this sack o'shite?"

Giorno seemed amused, "he's my boyfriend, Guido Mista. You know, the one that asked me out when he was dying."

"You gotta be shittin' me, the same duffer who went arse over tit for ya in front of my sweet Pinky Pants?"

Did-did he mean Hot Pants the WWE nurse?

Giorno hummed in agreement as the strange man released Mista to inhale the boar, pausing only to wink, "so, how's ya father?"

A mischievous grin, "oh, fantastic," followed up with some rather obscene gestures that left Mista blushing furiously.

This was it, he was going to die.

The arrival of Diego Brando, horse enthusiast and infamous jockey, turned out to be god-send that mellowed out the stuffy atmosphere. He'd never seen someone so brazenly heretical when talking to a priest, or so incredibly crass while eating, but Diego carried himself with the confidence of a king, creating a weird mix of finesse and vulgar. Thanks to him, the rest of the dinner went far smoother, even if Mista was hesitant to eat something called a Spotted Dick.

At the end of the night, Mista was dead inside, drained completely and utterly as Giorno received a bundle of leftovers and a boisterous 'Goodbye~ GioGio!'. Settling down on the motorcycle as Giorno putted about, securing himself and his delicacies, he was startled back to the world of the living by the cold hands trailing up under the sides of his suit, Giorno's face now nuzzling the side of his neck.

Mista sighed, supposing a terrifying nightmare dinner was worth it.

Chapter Text

It was Guido Mista's birthday and he had, like every year before, no idea what to do or even what day it was. So he had gotten ready, the same as he always did; 15 minute shower, 3 minutes of teeth brushing as he counted, 1 minute of raking his fingers through his hair, and an eternity scrapping together random clothing into his usual style.

Staring at his toaster in anticipation, the gangster's phone began to chime. Who the hell would be calling at- a glance at the clock on the stove- 2 AM? That was... he really needed to fix that.

He went ahead and answered the call with a slightly sleepy "pronto?"

The smooth sound of Buccellati's voice crackled through the phone, "Mista, I have a job for you today."

So early? Though it was turning 10...

The toast popping out of his toaster startled him a bit, "uh sure boss."

"We need you to run a stake-out. I'll send you the location, but pay careful attention to the comings and goings. I expect you to come in with a detailed report at 3:30 sharp. Okay?"

"You got it boss."

Mista munched on his toast as he reviewed the spot, judging it to be pretty close and not even a 30 minute walk. Bundling up, Mista trudged over to the location at about noon, which ended up being some kind of... old folks home?

Well, whatever, bosses orders and all that. Climbing his way up the fire escape of a nearby building and then shimmying his way into some kind of windowed janitorial closet, Mista settled down, binoculars in hand.

From this vantage, he had a clear view of the entire lobby and- oh, they were playing Captain Tsubasa on the little CCTV monitor behind the front desk. Shouldn't they be using that to maybe watch security footage? Shrugging since it wasn't exactly his problem, Mista settled in for the long haul.

Over the next three and a half hours, Mista had watched an entire marathon of wholesome anime, counted the arrival of 57 adults and 9 children, and harassed 2 pigeons. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing or looking for, but he had gotten... something he supposed. Packing up, the gunman made his way back down the fire escape and headed off for his gangs base of operations.

Since Polpo's unfortunate... accident, Buccellati had been promoted and they gotten a really swanky new safe house in a building full of lofts and offices. Heading up the stairs, the gunman couldn't help noticing how quiet it was and when he reached the door... there were no lights on.

Mista immediately wrapped a hand around the handle of the revolver shoved into the front of his pants, preparing for the worst. Steeling himself, he grabbed the doorknob, counted to three before bursting into the flat.

The lights came on as confetti fell from the ceiling, but the happy birthdays fell a little flat since the gunman had his revolver out.


Bruno sighed at the surprised man as Fugo drawled, "told you he forgot what day it was."

Mista slapped a hand to his reddening face, "shit."

Abbachio rolled his eyes, turning to go raid the wine stash, "yeah, no shit. Every damn year. I swear."


Mista was on to his second piece of cake when he caught a knock at the door, cutlery still stuck in his mouth as a hand whipped down to his revolver. Bruno went over to answer it while the gunman moved to support him from next to the wall. After checking who it was through the peephole bored into the wood, the capo practically flung the door open, welcoming in... Giorno?

"Thank you, Buccellati," he noticed the gunman standing behind the wall, fork in mouth and hand on gun, and gave an amused smile, "happy birthday, Mista."

"It's nice of you to join us," to which the blond hummed in affirmation, reaching up to slide the fork from the stunned gunman's lips.

Mouth freed, "what're you- how'd you-?"

Giorno had gone ahead and taken a bite of Mista's cake with the pilfered fork, "Buccellati invited me. We met in a craftstore not long ago and he mentioned his plans for your birthday. Of course, I have a few plans of my own."

"You uh, you do?"

Mischievous blue eyes met surprised black as Giorno helped himself to more cake, "mhm. Whenever you are ready, I'd like to take you on a date, Guido."

Narancia and Fugo were snickering and making kissy noises at the blushing gunman from their spot on the couch across the room while Abbachio rolled his eyes, continuing to nurse his wine bottle. He must be the luckiest guy on Earth. Giving his thanks and a farewells to his gang, who mauled the rest of the birthday cake as soon as the door shut, Mista slid into the passenger side of Giorno's sleek car.

It was even fancier inside and it took most of his willpower to not fiddle with all the neat buttons. He relented about 3/4ths of the way to wherever Giorno was taking them, pressing random buttons as the blond chuckled at him.

'There' turned out to be Tonio's because 'it's where you first took me' with a heart-melting smile. The same waitress, who Mista now recognized as Yukako from the Halloween party, sat them back at a more secluded booth. Mista just hoped Josuke and Okuyasu wouldn't crash this date too.

Giorno was the one going out of his way this time, spoiling him with his favorite foods and good wine and even letting him eat his entire dessert. It left a warmth in Mista's heart as Giorno drove him back to the gangster's apartment to 'do whatever Mista wanted to do' with that roguish glint in his eyes. It was a good birthday, probably the best he'd had in a long time, shared with good friends, good food, and his beautiful lover.

"So, Giorno, when is your birthday?"

"April 16th."

Mista froze.


Chapter Text

It was finals week, or so Mista was told, and things had a sort of... buzz about them. There was an energy in the air, and not just because Christmas was around the corner. Every student he knew was currently feeling it. Even Giorno,  unshakable and consistently collected, seemed to be feeling... something. If you really stared and paid attention, you'd probably catch a few momentary lapses in common sense or a slight sense of urgency in his movements and speech, barely there and hardly noticeable.

But Mista stared.

A lot.

So he was privvy to the subtle cracking of his boyfriends carefully composed facade in real time. It was strange to see. Which is how Mista wound up at the blonds apartment, making some hot chocolate for Giorno, who had commandeered the entirety of the dining table for his studying.

Three textbooks, multiple binders full of lecture notebooks, lab notebooks, workshop notebooks, copious other study materials, stacks of intricate and dense flash-cards, and the journals... piles of dense articles and journals neatly clipped and in words that made Mista's head hurt to look at. Giorno had a full course-load, and it was showing.

Headache or not, he had been more than willing to help Giorno study though. They had spent the last few hours going through anatomical flash cards, Mista attempting to pronounce what was on them and Giorno reciting the definition with scary perfection. The guy had a memory of a steel bear trap.

Glancing over the blond's tense shoulder, he could see that he had moved on to studying for some sort of physiological chemistry course that had him pulling out a calculator. It was dense, lots of strange chemical sounding names, lots of numbers and formulas for... something? Dilutions? Whatever it was, it looked interesting enough math-wise, but Mista let the blond keep at it, handing him a warm mug of pretty much sugar with a bit of chocolate.

Thanking him graciously, Giorno practically slammed the mug back, chugging it all in one go before politely setting the empty mug back down.

Mista stared.

Finals truly could break the strongest of wills. Sighing, Mista grabbed the emptied mug and began washing it in the sink. He really wanted to help,  but there wasn't really much he could do. The most he knew about anatomy and all that biological stuff was either from crime dramas (he watched two, one on Monday and one on Tuesday), or from... less savory places (he worked for a mafia, and he did work).

Honestly he was mostly just here for moral support.

But as he watched his beautiful and smart and lovely boy punch numbers into his calculator with a tad bit more force than usual, seemingly stuck on a problem, he got an idea.

Walking up behind Giorno's low-backed chair, the gangster began trailing his tan fingers across the tensed muscles of the blonds shoulders. There was a momentary, half-second pause in the pen scratching and calculator punching, before pale fingers resumed, although slower. Sliding his hands over shoulders, down to collarbones then up, thumbs tracing up a slender neck; Mista couldn't help naming the muscle groups Giorno taught him, trapezious, levator scapulae, platysma.

Lightly pressing his fingers into the tightly bunched muscles, he was rewarded with an almost inaudible groan and stilled hands. Giorno's shoulders were solid knots of tension, and while Mista may not know how exactly muscles worked or what the fuck an ion channel was, he did know how to give a damn good massage.

So he circled his thumbs, pressed his fingers, and kneaded away until the blonds head was drooping slightly, pen falling away as his hands relaxed.

A partcularly deep squeeze had Giorno humming in approval as the gunman leant down, kissing the crown of his golden head with a murmured, "take a break, I'll help you relax."

"Guido... harder."

Mista complied, hiking the blonds hips as he pounded harder into the tight heat of Giorno's ass. It wasn't exactly what Mista had planned on doing to try to get the blond to relax, but about five minutes into the massage things escalated a bit.

Not that he minded, having the blond under him panting and trying to hold in his breathy little noises was always welcome. Mista couldn't help his smug satisfaction when a particularly angled thrust had the blond involuntarily knocking a stack of medical journals off the table with a stilted moan.

Mista ran his hands up the blond's sides and back pressing and squeezing as he went, relishing the shudder he got in response. Giorno's muscles were putty, and the gangster couldn't resist giving himself a congratulatory pat on the back for job well done. It was unorthodox and not quite the original plan but damn if he wasn't good at what he did.

Looking over at the clock, he figured he should let blond get back to work. Didn't want him stressing himself back into knots again. Hands returning to Giorno's hips, Mista tilted them up before picking up the pace, practically slamming the blond up the table with each thrust. The blond couldn't help the loud moans pouring out of his mouth, fingers grasping for anything as he was bent further upwards.

The head of Mista's cock was digging into Giorno's prostate at the apex of each thrust, his walls spasmodically clenching as he was brought closer to the edge. Reaching out, Mista wrapped a hand around the blonds dick, pumping in time to his hips. Giorno tensed, body seizing as he came with a breathless cry.

Between the sight of his disheveled lover and the sensation of Giorno's ass tightening around him, it wasn't long before Mista was cumming too, pushed deep into wet warmth. The gangster tilted his head back as he caught his breath, sliding out with a wet noise.

The blond under him was draped over the table, knees a little shakey as he calmed down, still riding the aftershocks. He had a strange little furrow on his brow as he stared at the slightly drooled on page under him. Eventually his mouth parted in a surprised 'o'.

"I've just figured it out...," murmuring as he fumbled with his pencil.

Mista hated finals week.

Chapter Text

It was late at night when Giorno finally settled against Mista's side. He wasn't sure what the blond had against a good nights sleep, especially since his bed was so damn comfy, but whatever. Pale hands began petting and scratching through the thick hair of the gunman's chest, a soothing motion that had him dozing slightly.

"Mista," Giorno murmured in question.

"Mmph?" Mista eloquently responded.

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

He hadn't even thought about the holiday really. His gang had a small celebration; they would give each other poorly wrapped gifts, order 7 pizzas, and then get hammered as they watched Hallmark channel Christmas movies.

Abbachio usually ended up crying.

It was a small affair, and usually later in the evening, but it was really rather special. None of them had families to speak of, so they made do with the families they made in each other.

"Mmm, got this thing at like... 8 Christmas day with the gang 'n all," Mista grumbled, voice scratchy from his almost-sleep.

"You are free Christmas eve though?"

"Mhm, why? You wanna do somethin'?"

"You should come celebrate with my family," the blond murmured between soft kisses along the gunman's jaw.

"The Joestar side?"

He really hoped since Dio Brando didn't seem like the most Christmas-sy type of man. Honestly, every day was probably Christmas to that man. 'A brand new luxury yacht? From me, Dio? To me, Dio? I, Dio, shouldn't have!' The thought had Mista giving a sleepy half-snort. Giorno merely arched an eyebrow.

"The Joestar side indeed. It's okay if you don't want to-"

Mista lazily wrapped his arms around the blond's thin shoulders and squeezed, "I'll go with you, I don't mind."

"Guido," the man was already fast asleep, leaving Giorno surprised and returning the others embrace, "thank you."

Giorno rose with the sun regardless of alarms where as Mista woke at exactly 9 AM everyday.

7 AM was okay, but he liked sleeping too much. If the sun wasn't out and shining however, Giorno wasn't awake. A fact he had learned months ago but still never ceased to surprise him as the blond happily slept on his chest. The overcast sky peeked from between the curtains, lightly illuminating his beloved's mouth hanging open and drool the puddling underneath.

It was super adorable and Mista would take a thousand pictures if only the blond would let him. He couldn't stare for long though, he had to get up, his numbered routine itching at his skin. Maneuvering his way from under his dead-to-the-world lover, Mista stood, stretched, and went over to the en-suite to take advantage of Giorno's shower.

It was an incredibly nice set-up: real tile, hot water for more than 25 minutes, no exposed pipes or cracked basins, an actual shower-head... he uh, really needed a new apartment. Mista had snuck a few of his own toiletries over, since he felt Giorno could pull off smelling like coconut mango almond butter with magnolia extract explosion. Mista didn't actually know what flavors his stuff had, he kind of just picked what had cool names.

Giorno seemed to like whatever it was, or maybe just him, and-speak of the devil and he will get out of bed. Over the spray of the shower, Mista could pick up the light pattering of feet, smiling wistfully as he counted down: three, two, one- Giorno opened the door to the bathroom with a single quick knock.

"Mista," the blond groggily hummed, "care if I join you?"

This was not the first time Giorno had invited himself into the bathroom while Mista was occupying it, he was strange with personal space and boundaries. If you gave him an inch he'd stretch it into a mile.

"Yeah, yeah, come on in."

The first time Giorno had popped in on him in the shower, Mista nearly tripped and taken out the curtain in his scrabble for modesty. Giorno had just raised one of his perfect eyebrows and said 'we've seen each other naked. We've touched each others' penises. This is an odd thing to be caught up on, Mista' like he wasn't the odd one.

So the gangster got used to the invasion of privacy, made peace with the fact that Giorno did human things too, and figured that maybe it was kind of weird to get hung up on seeing each other naked in non-sexual situations. Mostly non-sexual at least, since Giorno had attached himself to Mista's back like a gorgeous, sleepy limpet. It was super cute and this shower was now going to be longer than usual.

"G'morning sleeping beauty."

"Mm. Morning," pale hands were wandering over his soapy stomach, "I have to go in to work."

Mista chuckled and cooed at the blonds expense, no wonder he was up comparatively early. Turning before Giorno could retaliate, the gunman slid his arms around the blond's slim hips, leaning down a little to kiss sweetly at pouting pink lips.

"Mmm, what will you be doing today, Mista?"

Copping a feel of that wondrous ass first, for luck obviously, "I gotta go shopping for presents."

He always ended up waiting until the last minute, but he had never been one for long term planning.

The shower lasted 39 minutes exactly, because any longer than that would have made the gunman freak out and Giorno glumly remembered he was on a bit of a time crunch. Mista kind of wished he could just work too, anything instead of shopping. He didn't mind the crowds, stores, even looking at neat stuff, but the dread of turning a price tag over... it sent shivers down his spine. He was really good at calculating discounts and taxes on the fly though, often throwing a few extra things onto his purchase to evade any fours.

He had to get started though, he had six gifts to get , and-a glance at his watch- 3 hours to get them.

Wait, the mall was open til ten and it shouldn't even be noon? A glance at his phone clock, had him at eleven and a half hours until closing. His watch must have died at some point. Shrugging, the gunman made his way down the grand foyer of the city mall.

His first stop was for Trish, since it would take the most time and inevitably cost the most. Curse her impeccable taste in everything. Of course she'd still probably love whatever he got her; she talked big but she wore that cheetah print neck scarf he bought her a few years ago all the time. Another one of those wouldn't be so bad actually. Wandering about the high-end outlet store, he eventually settled on a very cool looking pink and black geometric print scarf that was hopefully fashionable.

Who knows, maybe Trish would make it fashionable.

Biggest purchase out of the way, Mista decided on Giorno next, since he was arguably as difficult to shop for as Trish. Running down the list of what he knew about the blond was; he couldn't cook, liked plants and animals, liked sappy musicals and stuff that had happy endings.

He... didn't know what to do with this information.

Meandering into a sort of novelty boutique, Mista surveyed his options. There were some movie and anime sets, some cool pictures and posters, and some adorable plushies- huh. The thought of his soft, cute boy wrapped up around something equally soft and cute had him staring at the ceiling. An employee walking by with a concerned 'are you okay?' snapped him back down to Earth.

Cute soft thing it was- but what?

There were cats, dogs, bears, some kind of weird hippo, a fox thing, fish, dolphins, vegetables... Mista looked back. They had a selection of various veggies and a large one in particular that had little legs that would cross and tiny arms. He didn't know what vegetable it was, but damn it was really soft!

Giorno ate nothing but fruits and veggies (and anything with sugar) so maybe he'd like a plush of... whatever this particular vegetable was. The label had 'Sexy Daikon body pillow'. Huh, well whatever. Mista would have to come back for it since it was a bit big and he'd feel really weird about carrying it around, but he had a good feeling about it regardless.

Bruno was next in line, and Mista had no idea what to get him this year. Abbachio usually gave him extravagant stuff, Fugo more thoughtful gifts, and Narancia gave him nothing but guidebooks for crafting projects. Mista sort of... went with whatever he thought his enigmatic capo would like, which inadvertently made things difficult.

Buccellati was the kind of guy who volunteered at troubled youth reform camps, and helped grannys walk across streets, and was part of a knitting club. He was also the guy paying off cops and giving hit jobs and killing rivals. He was both simple and complex and Mista liked that about him. Plus the guy was directly responsible for getting him out of prison, so that was really cool too.

He was notoriously difficult to shop for; buying anything he needed as soon as it came up and interests so niche that he already owned every volume of 'Seabirds of the World'. Mista stared at the shelf in front of him with an intensity that had other shoppers giving him a wide berth.

Buccellati liked seafood and fishing- but Mista didn't know enough about that stuff to find something good- he liked serious, classical movies- but his movie library was huge- and he liked seabirds of all kinds- not very helpful- and his style was black on white on black. The most color he wore was silver or light gray.

He was worse than Abbachio, which was really saying something.

Mista tromped down the aisles of whatever store he meandered into, lost in thought at just what to get when he realized he was in the sock aisle. Figuring he was going to find nothing of use, he turned to leave when a pair at the end of the display caught his eye. Oh, those would be perfect.

Three down and three more to go, Mista was hesitating a little at what to get Fugo and by extension Narancia. Every year was the same; go shopping, buy three gifts, spend the next hour and a half freaking out at buying his fourth gift, eventually just decide on getting Fugo and Narancia a gift at the same time, but his brain would only settle if he did both at exactly the same time, sling-shotting his gift count from three to five, somehow.

Mista didn't understand it but it worked so that was good enough.

Anything to not have a mental breakdown in the middle of a J C Penny's like a few years ago, before he met Trish and had only four gifts to buy. It was a particularly cringe-worthy memory. But if Fugo or Narancia caught on to his dilemma they never said, usually delighting and/or bickering over whatever they got, which was always something stupid. Last year was a pair of footie pajamas with 'Thing 1' and 'Thing 2' and the year before was a two pack of some novelty mugs.

They both had coinciding interests, so that was fortunate, but finding a two pack of something cool was somewhat difficult. There were lots of dorky and geeky sets, stuff probably kind of difficult to separate, but... the entertainment store he was terrorizing had a two for one special going on and that... would that work? He'd have paid once but he'd have five gifts so sure he paid for four things but it was probably marked up anyway so maybe this could work?

His brain wasn't screaming at him so that was as good a yes as anything. Buying two separate anime sets (a deep, thoughtful looking psychological thriller for Fugo and a stupid looking one for Narancia), Mista sighed in relief. This was the easiest Christmas shopping excursion he'd had in a long time. One last present was all he needed and that would be solved with a trip to a liquor store on the way home. Circling back to grab Giorno's Daikon, the gunman arrived back home at around six, raided his fridge, munched on some aged pizza and then passed out on his granny-print couch. He forgot to get wrapping paper.


The Joestar's celebrated Christmas Eve with a dinner party, with all the rest of the gift giving at the end. It was encouraged but not required to bring a little something to add to the menu, but Giorno couldn't cook at all, and Mista would feel weird if he just showed up empty handed. So he made a pretty simplistic antipasto, and even let Giorno help, although everything he cut was too thin or thick and strangely crooked.

They still had a little time before they needed to head out to the Joestar estate, and Mista was unsure about giving such a large and strange present in front of the family. So, dish in the fridge and everything else in his sink, Mista grabbed the blonds hands and led him to his ultra-vintage couch.

"Alright Giorno, close your eyes!"

The blond smiled, "we are giving each other our gifts now?"

"Well yeah, it's uh special, you know?"

Giorno had an amused quirk to his brow but was complying anyway, "it is indeed."

Mista ran to the closet he had stored the Daikon in- the one place the blond never would look- and carefully hobbled it over. It was... shoddily done, his own inability to wrap things combined with the odd shape and softness left it a mess of tape and patches. Mista also had run out of paper halfway through, so it was an interesting mish-mash of red 'happy holidays!' and skiing polar bears with Santa hats.

It looked really bad but it was all just gonna be torn off in a few seconds so, no problem, right?

Parking himself and the lumpy present in front of the blond, "you can open now."

As soon as lightly dusty eyelids opened, blue eyes landed on the Christmas themed train-wreck in the gangster's hands. Giorno was speechless but Mista couldn't tell if it was good or bad. Pale hands reached out and gently plucked the gift from the gangster's hands, before daintily plucking bits of tape off.

Even while unwrapping things, the blond was refined about it, and it just made Mista more nervous. A few patches and a strip of polar bears fell away and Giorno was just staring silently at what he had unearthed. Pulling the Daikon the rest of the way out of the festive paper, Mista's view of the blond's face was blocked by the squishy vegetable.

Oh god, he didn't like it.

The gunman had an apology on his lips when pale arms wrapped around the middle and squeezed.

"It's so soft and cute," muffled, like his face was pressed into it, "it's lovely."

Mista couldn't help the relieved exhale, success!

Giorno peeked out from the beside the Daikon, "I feel as though what I got you won't quite measure up."

The gunman was quick to wave his concerns aside, "I'm sure I'll love it, it came from you after all."

The blond buried his face back into the body pillow, but Mista caught a smattering of pink. Having collected himself, the blond made his way over to the large gift bag he had brought with him pulling out a small, perfectly square, gold and red box with an orate bow around it. Just the box looked fancy, as Giorno slid it into his tan hands.

Leaning up to give a soft peck to the side of Mista's mouth, "Merry Christmas, Guido."

Returning the gesture, Mista eagerly undid the fancy ribbons and popped off the lid to the box. Inside was the most respectable beanie he'd ever seen- black and silver patterned from... Armani made stuff like this? It looked like something a successful person might wear, definitely someone of a higher social status than Mista. He... suddenly felt like he had a sugar daddy receiving something so fancy, but then immediately squashed that train of thought because he worked two jobs dammit and he was an adult.

"Thanks, Giorno," placing the box on the coffee table and pulling the blond into a pressing hug, "I love it."

Sliding his new hat over his slightly curly hair, "let's go eat a shit ton of food and get wine drunk at your dad's place."

The new beanie was a fantastic gift, but Giorno's snorting laughter was the best present so far.

The Joestar's were a family of enigmatic wealth and unearthly charisma and beauty. Everything they did they just seemed to excel at, like it was their destiny to succeed. The entire family was that way, drawing people like moths to a flame, so it was really no surprise that the dinner was full of both Joestar's and their associates.

While they really could pull off the most lively dinner party on Earth, the family tree was a convoluted mess that made no sense and left Mista more confused as to how truly related they all were. Seeing all of them packed around one giant ass table made it easier to see the similarities though.

Jonathan was a saintly if muscle-bound family man, exuding an aura of kindness, surrounded by Erina and Speedwagon. Joseph, older but dynamic and loud as he sipped on his wine chatting animatedly with Lisa Lisa and Caesar as he stole from his wife Suzie's plate. Jotaro sitting stoically next to a boisterous Jolyne and timid Emporio. Josuke and Okuyasu responding just as loudly as Gyro and Johnny bickered. Gappy and Yasuho being disgustingly adorable as Holly flitted about the table.

Giorno meticulously pointed out each member and Mista couldn't help but feel the trepidation ease. It was such a large and diverse group and certainly a much more welcoming atmosphere than the Brando family dinner. The friendly atmosphere never seemed to fade as he found himself stuck between Giorno and Okuyasu, across from Emporio.

It really was nice; they all seemed to have an unending reservoir from which to pull stories from, ranging to family drama and gossip up to how everyone met. They were all so interesting and the relaxed atmosphere had Mista relaxing.

Holly peeked back into the dining room from the kitchen to call, "JoJo, come help!"

Eight heads all turned, bodies in varying stages of standing up.

The sight had all the Joestar's blushing, laughter ringing across the hall. As Mista wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes, ignoring the flustered blond beside him, he couldn't help thinking about how little he minded being an extension of this family.

It was a little after one AM when the two finally stumbled back into Mista's apartment, hands full of leftovers (Holly and Jonathan were damn good cooks) and gifts. He would need to remember to send a thank you gift to Jotaro (who gave him 10 free aquarium tickets), Jonathan (an intricately framed picture of young Giorno who had a bowl cut ), and maybe not Jolyne. She had given him a bulk box of condoms ('ribbed for pleasure, hehe') and way too many winks and elbow nudges. He was also pretty sure he had a hand shaped hole on both shoulders from all the hearty pats on the back he received from literally everyone except Emporio.

Giorno's family was so affectionate.

Speaking of, the blond had already left a trail of stripped clothing on his way to the shower, disappearing in a brief vision of pale cheeks. Mista weighed joining him in the admittedly cramped shower space, but thought better of it. Last time he spent most of it being cold as the blond hogged the spray, an impressive feat given how... compact the basin is. Might as well just let him finish up and then take a quick one of his own afterwards. Next time he was at Giorno's apartment he could indulge. The blond had more bathroom space than some small island nations.

As he tucked various sized and very full pieces of Tupperware into his fridge, Mista couldn't help but grin at his lot in life. Honestly he'd only been with Giorno for a few months at this point, but damn if things didn't feel brighter now that he was here. Good things kept happening and he was pretty sure it had to do with his golden boy. They just fit together so well sometimes that it seemed unimaginable.

Mista knew he wasn't traditionally good-looking; with his body hair, his kind of chiseled face, and how muscular he was... but Giorno couldn't keep his hands off and god it was kind of empowering. He never seemed to care about Mista's lack of education, and was unfazed by his criminal antics, and when Mista would ask or say things considered strange, he'd give thoughtful replies. They once were kicked out of a smoothie store for discussions of cannibalism and bug-eating. Not to mention how... open he was to the whole numbers thing. He could barely even stand his own brain sometimes, but Giorno was always so damn patient with him whenever he got bad again.

Sneaking a couple of truffles out of one of the tubs, shit Holly was some kind of wizard, he closed his eyes and spent a little time relishing life.

The plastic dipped in his hand slightly, "Holly's truffles are absolutely wondrous."

Mista barely held himself back from screaming and throwing the treats out of fear. Giorno needed a bell or something.

"Yeah they are. You all done?"

He looked done, hair dripping slightly onto the towel wrapped about his shoulders clad only in sinfully tight boxer briefs. They were covered in cute little cartoon donuts and cupcakes with smiley faces. God he was adorable as hell.

"Mhm, the shower is all yours. I would be mad at Joseph for getting alcohol on me, but it happens every year for some reason."

"I've never seen tequila at a Christmas dinner before. Or a grown man pull a bottle from a suit jacket."

The blond hummed in agreement over another truffle, "Joseph is quite an interesting fellow."

"You can say that again," putting the lid back on to Giorno's pout.

He had a soft sort of fond look in his eyes and it was making Mista's insides all warm and squiggly.

"Thank you for coming with me," pale and dainty fingers trailed across his stomach, tickled his sides, before wrapping loosely around his middle, "Merry Christmas, Guido."

He was pressed close and Mista couldn't help returning the soft touches over slightly damp skin.

"Thanks for bringing me, and for the new hat, and everything else."

Giorno's skin and lips were still shower warm as they nipped and groped, giving the gangster a heart-melting smile, "of course. Join me soon?"

"Mhm, you go get comfy, I'll be there in a minute."

One last kiss and the blond was turning, but Mista quickly grabbed his slender wrist, "I uh forgot to ask- would you wanna come to our Christmas thing? Uh, the one with my g-coworkers? You could meet them all, for real. If you want, though."

Blue eyes morphed from surprised and curious to a warmth that spread down to turn his lips up at the edges, "I'd love to meet your friends."

Mista exhaled the breath he was holding, "you really wanna?"

Quiet giggles as the blond patted his cheek, "of course I do. You've met my family, it's about time I met yours," punctuated by a peck on the lips, "good night, Guido."

The blond made his way to Mista's bedroom as the gunman was left smiling stupidly after him, snapping back to reality after a few minutes. Quickly showering, that beautiful bastard only left him six or seven minutes worth of hot water, and then toweling off even faster (why was his apartment so cold) Mista made his way to his bed.

Giorno was a hardcore snuggler; anything and everything that was warm and/or soft and could be held was fair game. So seeing Giorno's face pressed into the Daikon body pillow was as unsurprising as it was absolutely adorable. Body pillows were made for snuggling bodily, it was in the title, and honestly he should be happy the blond was using it. But no logic could stop the sudden blip of jealousy that had him gently tugging the veggie out of slack hands, tossing it to the floor, and replacing the space with his own body.

Mista would not be replaced by a squishy vegetable so soon.

Chapter Text

Mista woke up to cold hands rubbing his navel and hips under the covers and even colder lips trailing around the back of his neck. Giorno had such little body heat it was like sleeping with a reptilian shape-shifter or a vampire. For someone so closely tied to the sun it was an interesting quirk.

"G'morn'm," Mista muttered into the pillow.

"Good morning, Mista."

The barest shafts of light were peeking in through the window. Of course the blond would be awake, but he still had-a bleary eye opened to the ancient alarm clock on his dresser- twenty-three minutes.

"Why are all your clocks wrong?"

His alarm clock was wrong too?

Fumbling for his phone and slurring some choice swears at the light Mista's alarm clock was indeed wrong. It was really close to ten AM.

"Huh... uh, for the surprise I guess?"

Why did he even have clocks at this point.

Giorno just chuckled against his back, continuing his light petting and seemingly content to keep lying around. Mista couldn't even gauge if the blond was working up to something more or if he was just groping for the hell of it. He couldn't say he minded, though it was making him sleepy again.

As the gunman's eyelids began drooping, a hesitant "will your friends like me?" came from behind him.

Huh, "more'n likely. You've met Buccelati before, and Narancia and Abbachio-"

"I don't think he was too fond of me."

"It's not you, he's just an asshole."

Mista turned to face the blond, "what's got you all worried?"

Giorno wasn't looking at him, instead poking at a tiny mole on the gunmans side, "I don't have many friends that aren't family related."

Mista's eyebrows went to his hairline, "you're fuckin' with me! I don't believe that for an instant."

Pouting, "it's true."

"I still don't believe it, but they will definitely like you. You are kinda hard not to like."

The blond gave a few breathy chuckles, "if you say so."

The next few hours were spent lazily making out in bed, groping in the shower, and then being fire hazards in the kitchen as they reheated leftovers. Eventually the two got around to actually eating lunch, barely denting the supply of food from the Joestar family dinner.

"Jotaro makes some weird ass food but damn is it good."

They were sprawled on the couch, watching The Grinch steal probably tens of thousands of Who bucks worth of Christmas.

"He learned a lot of interesting things on his travels. He has this neat trick he can do with five cigarettes... he showed me how to do it once with pocky. I nearly choked to death."

"Huh. I can't wrap my head around the idea of him doing party tricks. Or uh, having fun in general I guess."

Add kidnapping charges to the list, The Grinch was on a crime spree.

Abruptly Mista blurted, "does Whoville got a civil justice department?"


Giorno was staring at him, face blank.

It was an awkward few moments before he finally replied, "they have a mayor. I haven't seen a court system or any sort of police force."

"What if there's a shoot out?"

That got the blond laughing, "I don't believe Who's are particularly violent in nature. Although I do wonder about what might happen if there were a fire."

"Yeah... There isn't exactly a fire department. Probably don't got any of those flammable material regulations either."

The blond hummed in agreement, attention returning to the wholesome Christmas classic.

It wasn't twenty minutes before Mista asked another off-handed question, "you think Who's got dicks? Or vaginas, I'm not sexist."

The blond had a heart-meltingly fond smile on his face as he gazed contentedly at the gunman. The Grinch ended and they still had around six hours before the gang festivities, so they watched A Christmas Story too. Die Hard came on next and the two spent a solid thirty minutes bickering over the logistics of whether it actually counted as a Christmas movie. Eventually they conceded to agree to disagree, but did both admit that they were kind of bored sitting around when they would be sitting around later.

They now had two and a half hours left before the main event, Giorno seemingly unfazed, but Mista could see the slight nervousness in his posture, speech slipping into formalities, and that just wouldn't do. Grabbing a pale wrist in the midst of the blond's puttering about, Mista pulled Giorno close, almost against his chest.

Having all the blond's attention, he broke into a lazy smile, "hey cutie."

One of the blond's signature ghost smiles and airy chuckles, purring "Guido."

"You wanna go out with me?"

"Oh? Where will you take me?"

"Dinner, on me. Put on your best casual," with a wink.

Giorno did not know the true meaning of the word casual, hardly owned anything that would be considered casual. Even his pajamas were fancy and came in a set. Everything he wore had a specific reason for being; running suits for running, swimsuits for swimming, yoga pants (that Mista hadn't caught him in yet) with a stretchy probably yoga related top for... yoga-ing- clothes for work, business, clubs, funerals. Nothing particularly for just... existing.

But the boy tried, and one soft blue polo under an even softer sweater covered in embroidered cats and they were ready to go. Mista had just his motorcycle, but the blond drove, already fishing for his keys. Grabbing his hand instead, Mista led Giorno across a street, leading him around a slushy puddle.

"You have a place close by in mind?" The blond asked, tucking his blue and cream houndstooth scarf tighter around his windblown cheeks.

"I do," Mista, "we'll have pizza tonight, but I figured we could indulge a little beforehand, you know?"

Leather gloves squeezed Mista's finger-less knit, "I am rather hungry. Although, all I've done recently is eat."

"I think you're allowed to pig out on holidays."

That got the blond chuckling, "I suppose so. Where are we heading? I'm rather unfamiliar with this area..."

"The best pizza place in town. We'll nab a few slices before we have to fight Narancia off for a bite."

The blond gave a pleased hum, following the gangster to a brightly lit pizzeria under some red and white striped awnings. It was a Passione owned place, because of course it was, but Tiziano and Squalo were pretty good at managing it- and Carne.

But nobody talked about Carne.

It was kind of run-down looking, but in a homely way and less of a food poisoning and/or murder kind of way. Leading Giorno to his usual booth and then dutifully helping him out of his coat... and scarf... and jacket, and sweater, the two took their seats on the worn pleather.

Squalo looked out of the swinging kitchen door, "holy shit, people actually came in on-oh, it's just Mista."

"Yo, Squalo, one on my usual margherita, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, comin' up."

The door swung back and there was a faint "Carne, stop eating the straws, you celery looking bastard."

Giorno chuckled under his breath, tucking a booted foot around the gangster's booted leg, "so lively. You come here frequently then?"

Wrapping a pale hand in his tan fingers, Mista smiled, "yeah these guys are shitheads, but they make a great pizza."

"I look forward to trying it then. I am rather fond of a good margherita."

"You'll love it, I promise," a brief squeeze and the gunman raised Giorno's hand to his lips, lightly kissing smooth knuckles.

It was far from a romantic dinner, in a sketchy and mostly abandoned pizzeria at 6:22 Christmas Day with a bunch of mafioso as waiters and cooks. Honestly though, who needed a tablecloth and lit candle and a suited server for that kind of experience. Looking at Giorno, with his hair kind of loose around his face, illuminated in soft neon blues and reds from the signs and streetlights outside, with that soft almost smile- screw all of that fancy shit.

This was the real deal.

Playful blue eyes crinkled to match his lips, head cocking slightly to the side, "you have such a faraway look in your eyes, Mista. What are you thinking of?"

"You, mostly," the gunman replied immediately.

It was the truth after all, and he was an honest man through and through. The light blush he got in response was well worth it.

"Guido," Giorno smiled, leaning in, the gunman following suit.

Their lips were a scant few centimeters apart, blue eyes flickering down and then back to meet dark almost black. Giorno's head was tilted invitingly to the side, mouth open slightly. Mista could just... close that distance, a movement forward, a tiny tilt, slide his lips across those plump, pink, parted-

"Here ya go, one margherita, god you two are disgusting together," Squalo's impeccable timing splitting the two apart as he set down the hot pizza.

"Ugh, thanks, asshole," Mista said in the least petulant tone he could manage as he started on the food.

It was still pretty petulant.

Giorno chuckled before daintily grabbing a slice of his own, Squalo walking back to the kitchen making exaggerated gagging noises. Rolling his eyes, Mista returned to the task at hand- said task being mauling this hapless pizza. Giorno seemed to share his sentiments as the duo demolished the dish in front of them.

"My family has many good cooks, but I am rather glad to eat something other than leftovers," Giorno started, leaning back against the distressed pleather seating.

Mista nodded sagely, "Christmas pizza is pretty great."

"You were right, they are rather good at what they do."

Mista pulled his wallet out of a boot, "glad you liked it, they got some real interesting flavors we can try out sometime."

Tossing a few bills on the vinyl table before getting up to help Giorno bundle himself back up. The brief flashing image of that kid from A Christmas Story in so many layers he couldn't move with Giorno's head had the gunman biting his tongue to keep from laughing. Composing himself coolly, Mista gave a lazy wave to Squalo and Tiziano, who were bickering over the incredibly ancient jukebox in the corner. Giorno's gloved hand made it into his, lockstep with the gunman as he turned a few corners and made his way to his gang's base of operations.

Giorno knew exactly- well not exactly, but he knew Mista was in a dangerous mafia and probably did unspeakable, questionable things. And yet here he was amicably following after him, neatly sidestepping all the little slush puddles, humming a little tune along the way. It was super cute, although he was a little tone deaf.

"Ah, did we need to bring anything?"

They were right outside the building, it would be too late regardless.

"Nah, dropped off all my presents a few days ago. I brought a cake in your name too."

He'd thought ahead this year and dropped everything off beforehand, stashing the gifts to keep them away from a certain orange headband wearing menace. The cake was just a bonus from a nearby bakery, since he did not trust Giorno's culinary skills. He was beautiful and smart but the awful things he'd make in the kitchen...

"That's very thoughtful, thank you," Giorno squeezed his hand lightly.

"Of course," Mista replied, trudging up the stairs.

Giorno was putting up a good front as the gunman knocked on the door three times, having to stop himself from just inviting himself in. The blonds mannerisms were rubbing off.

The door clicked open, Bruno greeting the gunman with a very serious, "Merry Christmas, Mista and Giorno."

Well, as serious as one could be while wearing a glittery Santa hat and the most atrocious Christmas sweater on the planet. Looking around the room, Buccelati was the only festive one again, for the sixth year in a row. Then again it was Bruno Buccelati; the man who was only capable of whole-assing whatever was in front of him... He probably shouldn't share that assessment, no matter how accurate.

They were about fifteen minutes early, but everyone was already here; Abbachio nursing a bottle of wine, Narancia setting up the TV for some Hallmark channel goodness, and Fugo microwaving another bowl of popcorn. There was just one thing missing from it all...

"Oh hey, where's Trish?"

"Right here, you're blocking the doorway," came a voice from behind him.

Mista startled (only a little, really) as he scrambled out of the way. Trish was carrying multiple fancy looking bags and a few not so fancy bags of tortilla chips.

She was just standing there staring as Buccellati helped take some of her cargo before she exclaimed, "OH!"

Giorno and Mista were mirrored with raised eyebrows, "oh?"

"This is!" Trish snapped from surprised to confident and charismatic in a heartbeat, extending a manicured hand, "Trish Una, you must be Giorno Giovanna."

It was the smoothest transition Mista had ever seen, "nice to meet you."

Two painfully similar personalities meeting like this, "likewise."

There were going to be such good friends.

Mista might cry.

Buccelati took the opportunity to then introduce Giorno more formally to the rest of the group before stoically announcing that the pizza would arrive in approximately thirty minutes, and they should exchange gifts before they started. Narancia and Fugo enthusiastically agreeing, and Mista had to catch himself from joining in, Abbachio had no opinion since he never really cared, and Trish and Giorno were involved in some secretive murmured conversation that gave the gunman some uncomfortable vibes.

Concerned, Mista offered to help Buccelati gather up and distribute all the gifts like some a demented Santa in tiger stripes. By the time he was done and returned to his spot, both Trish and Giorno were giving him smug and knowing looks.

What had happened.

(Un)fortunately, he didn't have a chance to find out as it was time to attempt to open presents in an 'orderly fashion' that would no doubt dissolve in to chaos ten minutes in. Bruno tried, but his children were nuts. The first one to usually break and just open everything was Narancia, but it seemed this year would be a tie with Fugo. Abbachio usually napped during present time since all he ever got were bottles of alcohol and the occasional gift card.

So far Mista received a vintage Tony the Tiger shirt (it was grrreat!) from Fugo and yet another box of condoms (thanks Narancia, I'll put it next to the OTHER BOX). Giorno had gotten a few little things as well, a bag of chocolates from Fugo, a craft store gift card from Bruno, a sneer from Abbachio...

Watching Narancia wad up a ball of tacky wrapping paper to throw at Fugo's head, while Giorno and Trish decimated the bag of chocolates, Buccelati humming a Christmas jingle while showing off a pair of socks covered in seagulls swearing to an Abbachio who had a ghost of a smile... It was a Merry Christmas indeed.

He had to be the luckiest guy on Earth.

Gifts all thoroughly exchanged, shown off, and messed with, Narancia stood up and exclaimed in his brand new Snoop Dogg shirt "it's time for some motherfucking Hallmark shit!"

Squishing himself between Giorno and Fugo, Trish and Narancia flopped on both sides, the channel was changed just in time to catch a very touching if cheesy line between mother and son over the true meaning of Christmas.

Abbachio was already sniffling.

About a quarter of the way through The Nine Lives of Christmas, the pizza arrived and by the time a cliche mistletoe scene came on, it was gone. By the end Abbachio was sniffling a bit harder, Bruno had set into the cake before actually offering anyone any, and Giorno was looking up cats for adoption from the local shelter. During the obscenely long commercial break, Mista went and procured his own slice of cake, and after a brief deliberation grabbed another.

He returned just in time for another Hallmark masterpiece, A Very Merry Mix-up, which "wait we saw this last year."

"Uh yeah, they got a budget for like one new movie a year, and they got an entire month to fill," Trish piped up, typing something lightning fast into her phone.

"That just seems lazy," Mista groused, settling back onto the full sofa.

Giorno's attention was immediately pulled to the plate, pouting when he saw there was only one fork. They'd have to pass the utensil back and forth since silverware was a hot commodity in this flat. Even with the handicap he was glad he thought to get two slices since Giorno was a black hole for sweets.

A Very Merry Mix-up ended half after one, and Buccelati and Abbachio were both passed out in their respective armchairs, leaving everyone else to watch the credits roll sleepily.

It was Narancia who groggily got up, whisper-shouting "let's play Mario Kart!"

Mista groaned as Fugo agreed, "you guys suck to play against."

"Look just because you are too good at it doesn't mean-"

"I've never played it before," Giorno piped up.

That woke the gunman up a little, "wait, really?"

"Mm, I never had anyone to play video games with really."

"Uh, what about your step-" Giorno was making such a disgusted face that Mista couldn't finish the sentence, "yeah okay, let's do it."

Narancia perched on the back of the couch behind Fugo, who broke out his personal controller, Trish and Mista flanked the blond to give advice and encouragement. The first few rounds were strictly for practice, the blond getting a grasp of the game controls and mechanics, seeming to favor Rosalina because 'she's rather pretty and ethereal' but also eyeing Yoshi and Bowser a bit. He was getting good surprisingly fast for someone who didn't own a single video game, often ranking in the top five. It was impressive and he was startlingly competitive, although the accuracy of his shells was a bit lackluster.

"Okay, let's do this for real, Mista, you too!"

Grunting a bit Mista grabbed a spare controller and picking a random vehicle and character, which ended up being Peach but Narancia started before he could change. Whatever, the character didn't matter much to Mista, all that mattered was getting shells and stuff to throw. His insane accuracy carried over even into Mario Kart, and was the main reason nobody liked playing against or with him.

However, this would now pose a new type of challenge.

He was playing with Giorno.

Giorno, who would want him to give it his all no matter what and would easily notice if he wasn't targeted as often. Giorno who'd do the voice at him until he did his best, even though it may crush him. The side-effect boner would also not be not ideal. Mista would have to just... play normally. Against his beautiful future fiance. That he decided on in that moment. Holy shit-

"Good luck, Mista," with a blinding smile.

Fugo gave him a conciliatory pat on the back as the timer counted down. Well, better to just... bite the bullet. At the first row of items Mista nabbed a set of mushrooms, not ideal, but it was fine enough. Narancia had sped his way in to first, Fugo on his tail fending off an NPC. Giorno was in fourth and Mista in fifth because he refused to be in fourth unless he could easily get to third.

That was the second reason he didn't often play video games.

However the next item block gave him a green shell- perfect! Lining himself up at the start of the next straight shot, Mista sent the green shell flying forwards and straight into the NPC that had gotten a little ahead of Fugo. The boy inevitably crashed into the NPC, swearing lowly as Mista and Giorno swept by.

Mista was now sitting pretty at third and that was cool and all but if he dropped down to fourth he was probably gonna lose it. The next item box gave him a banana peel which... well that was kind of doable since there was a toss mechanic now. He just had to get close enough, and then he could sit in second, defending his hold for the next lap or so. Trying to take first in Mario Kart against Narancia was a lost cause. The guy was just too damn fast.

Mista just prayed Giorno would forgive him for this.

Getting close to the blonds character the gunman gave a truly heartfelt, "sorry babe" before launching the banana peel in front of poor unsuspecting Rosalina.

He was expecting a slip, but instead Giorno seemed to expertly dodge. Mista was stunned slightly, ignoring the laughter from Trish and the swearing from Fugo who was not as nimble.

The blond looked frustratingly smug "what for, Mista?"

Fate was not on his side since the next item box gave him a red shell, and as misfortune would have it, a blue shell came speeding by, leaving Narancia gaping and no longer in first.

The finish line was nearing and Mista apologized again, "I'm really sorry, love you, Giorno," before sending the red shell flying into Rosalina's fancy bike.

It was the eulogy to mourn the possible end of his relationship, and Mista could cry as Peach crossed the finish line. Giorno was stunned, eyes wide before quietly dropping a few words in a foreign language.

They sounded bad yet familiar?

"Whoa Giorno! I didn't know you could speak Naruto," Narancia whisper-shouted.

Chapter Text

It was sunny out, the perfect weather, not too hot thanks to the nice breeze blowing. Plants were blooming and trees were doing tree stuff, the bugs were out and already flying up people's noses, and the wildlife was out doing whatever it is they were doing. It was lively and a refreshing break from winter and Narancia Ghirga couldn't hold back from whistling a little tune and hopping around, a spring in his step. It was nice and his foot caught on something-sending him face first into the pavement with a loud "oh shit!"

Picking himself back up, and ignoring the offended granny nearby, Narancia looked around for whatever tried killing him, ready to return the favor. There wasn't anyone around who could have done it, the granny too far away and probably too old and slow and frail, and the rest of the suspects were way across the street. Looking back down, there were some cracks in the pavement, but what really caught his eye was the weird circular shell looking thing, half in the grass. Narancia lifted the thing up to eye level to come face to face with a tiny head tucked between the two halves of a shell, stumpy legs flailing.

He found a turtle.

At this point, anyone else would have probably put the turtle down somewhere else out of the way. But this was Narancia Ghirga and he nearly tripped over it and he had already looked into it's tiny eyes and decided he was going to keep him. He'd never had a pet before and he might as well start now.

Wandering around the shopping district until he found a pet store, Narancia checked his pockets and wallet; fourty five in paper and a couple coins. That would be enough, especially with the classic mafioso discount.

After some careful intimidation, not so careful persuasion, and a few choice name-drops, Narancia was now the proud owner of a brand new turtle tank, some free toys, heater rocks and lamps, a tank filter and water treating stuff, some treats, some food, some 'w-whatever man just take it okay!'- it was a good haul. And Coco Jumbo thought so too, he was sure, and that was his name now, Narancia decided that instant.

Lugging his very legal purchases back to the gang safehouse, Narancia unpacked all his- the turtles new turtle swag. He followed all the set up instructions- eventually getting tired of reading all this stuff about chlorine treatments and electrical hazards before just consulting the internet.

Seven YouTube tutorials and ten turtle videos from the autoplay queue later and Narancia had a pristine and damn good looking tank set up, filter chugging away in the water. He was about to drop Coco Jumbo into his nice new watery paradise when the door came open, Fugo back from class.

"Hey, I'm home-" a pause as red eyes moved from the mess of boxes and turtle stuff on the floor, to Narancia and his outstretched arms, to the turtle hovering over the full tank of water.

"Thats a fucking tortoise."

The tank was emptied, wiped out, a few bags of terrarium gravel and bark chips cleaned and layered down, toys and heat rocks and fake foliage and decor set up... by Fugo. Narancia was relegated to watching documentaries on the differences between land and water Testudines.

By the time Fugo finished setting up the glass tank, now suited for a land tortoise like Mr. President (a better name in his opinion), Abbachio let himself into the flat. Brown sack of booze and pastries in one hand, keys still in the other, purple eyes sliding lazily from the turtle video being narrated by Sir David Attenborough on the flat screen, to the tank on the end table, to the mess of boxes and junk on the floor, and finally to the somewhat guilty faces of Narancia and Fugo.

The door was slammed shut.

That could have gone better, but the two were now proudly watching their new friend slowly come out his shell. They didn't actually know what gender it was and neither was volunteering to find out, but they collectively decided he was a he. They did not agree on the name, however.

A little while passed, the soothing voice of an esteemed field biologist waxing poetic in the background as the two picked up their mess and marveled at their new companion. It was a job well done and they felt proud of their handiwork.

Four knocks at the door, a muffled 'oh shit' followed by a quick extra knock and Mista came in, followed by Giorno.

"Hey guys, what's... up?"

Two sets of eyes, one dark and one soft blue, moved from the man who is considered to be the greatest nature documentarist in the history of broadcasting, to the two guilty looking boys on the couch, to the well decorated tank with not as well decorated turtle.

"You uh, got a new friend there?" Mista asked side eyeing the newest addition as Giorno went to go look.

"His name is Coco Jumbo," Narancia said at the same time Fugo said, "his name is Mr. President."

Mista stared, "right."

Giorno hummed, "if I'm not mistaken, I believe this particular species of tortoise is actually protected."

Fugo slapped a pale hand to his face as Narancia gave a confused "what?"

"It means that the species is in danger of extinction, so the collection and keeping is illegal under federal law. He'll need to be released at a nature preserve."


"Ughhh, all that work-"

Mista rolled his eyes, "we can get another turtle-"


As Mista went to a pet store, Narancia and Fugo accompanied Giorno to the local nature reserve on the edge of town, half in awe of the shiny car ("Mista definitely has a sugar daddy." "Shhh not so loud!") and half heartbroken.

Giorno greeted the conservationist, explaining the situation for the two mafioso, too preocupied saying their farewells. They'd had him less than a day, a few hours at best, but he was a gangster through and through. The conservationist had a look of poorly concealed disgust at the display while Giorno puttered about looking at the information boards, slipping a few large bills into the donation box.

"Goodbye Coco Jumbo, you go show those other turtles how real gangsters roll. Get some hot turtle bitches like you were meant too. We'll never forget you."

"Be safe out there Mr. President, you were the best tortoise a gang could have."

Mista ended up getting an aquatic turtle.

Chapter Text

It was February fifth and through a bizarre miracle of fate, some boon of the calendar gods, he and Giorno had both managed to get Valentine's day off from work. Mista had the entire day, and the blond was still stuck in class from 12 to 4, but this still would work out perfectly. Hopefully. Mista absolutely loved Valentine's day, a day you could devote entirely to making the person you love feel special, where you could indulge and spoil and romance and yeah it was commercialized to hell, but it still felt good. Giorno was... ambivalent towards the holiday, more excited about the day after when chocolate would be on sale.

He had at least agreed that it would be nice to do something together that day, though he left the what up to the gunman. Dinner was off the table since it was too cliche even for him, not to mention the overworked staff and traffic and all the other couples. A cinema would also be out because he wanted something with a little more intimacy. He really just wanted to spend a little personal time with Giorno. It had been hard recently, Mista somehow landed a manager spot and the blond was still super busy with his residency and his spring semester classes. Safe to say it had been awhile since they were able to really find some personal time with each other. So Mista offered up the gift of each other, sappy but the blond smiled mischievously and accepted in a heartbeat.

He had the perfect plan too, one he knew the blond would be unable to resist.

The day of, Mista bought as many roses as twenty-five bucks could get him, a bag of nice chocolates, and a few packs of fake candles (curse Giorno's fancy apartment and it's no open flames rules) before heading back to the blond's apartment to set things up. It was almost 2 PM but two hours would be plenty of time. Roses went into fancy vases- and when he ran out of fancy vases, fancy cups- making a sort of path to the bedroom. Chocolate went on the nightstand within easy reach of a certain pale sweets lover. The candles were strewn about, just enough to give the place a nice mood when the lights were off. Cracking the door to the bedroom and taking a quick shower, Mista decided it was time for the real present; a brand new, fuzzy, tiger-striped g-string (or at least what was close enough to one). It hardly covered anything at all and were absolutely perfect, plus really soft. Giorno was going to lose it.

A soft click through the door and the jingling clink of keys hitting a bowl- speaking of.

"Mista?" Giorno called softly.

"In here, babe," Mista answered back, hastily getting into position, sprawled in what he hoped was a seductive pose on the bed.

The blond opened the door, eyes widening in surprise, shifting from the roses, the candies, the candles, along Mista's body to land on the tiny, fuzzy underwear-then hastily back to meet Mista's eyes.

The mafioso gave a wink and a cheeky smirk, "you like what you see?"

In lieu of responding, Giorno simply walked forward, hands reaching out to trail pale fingers along tan shoulders down to biceps, moving from wrist to hip and down, catching lightly at the strip of furry fabric. He looked like a kid at Christmas.

"All this for me?"

Mista caught a pale hand and brought it to his lips, "all for you."

Giorno had a mixed expression, half absolutely pleased and half flustered, a deep blush settling on high cheekbones.

Leaning down, Giorno caught the gangster's lips in a flurry of kisses, "let me shower first, I have something for you as well."

Mista couldn't wait, placing a few parting pecks on whatever he could reach as the blond turned to the en suite, "I'll be here."

The blond took what must have been the shortest shower in his life, clocking in at 8 minutes before the water stopped. It was kind of weird actually having the door closed, since Giorno didn't believe in pesky things like privacy, but when he walked back into the room Mista understood why. He had on... lace- a soft creamy white set of panties with oh god those were garter belts and sheer stockings.

Giorno stopped in front of the sitting gunman, hips cocked to the side, "you like what you see?"

There were no words in Italian, Napolitano, English- in no languages devised by mankind to properly express how much he liked what he saw.

God he was "perfect, so beautifully perfect," as he slid tan hands down pale sides to thumb at the edge of the lace.

Giorno looked triumphant, hiking a pale leg up to bracket Mista, leaning over him, thighs now deliciously parted as he stood. Mouths catching as the blond tugged him into a kiss, cupping his jaw and tight in his hair, Mista explored a little, groaning at the stockings and tight belts. The loud moan he got when he ghosted over the blond's crotch went straight to his dick, quickly straining against the rather unyielding material of his g-string. Both hands sliding around the blond's soft cheeks, Mista hoisted him onto his lap, earning a pleased gasp, hips rutting for a glimpse of friction. He was so eager Mista decided to get a move on, fingers trailing between spread cheeks only to hit something hard.

No way.

Fingers circled hard plastic, earning him a shiver and when he pressed a shuddering gasp.

No wonder the blond was already leaking, "how long has this been in?"

Giorno was half preoccupied with sliding their clothed cocks together, fumbling with the tie to the g-string, "too long."

The blond's dick had popped out to the side and once the gunman's was freed and they slid against each other, Mista's brain momentarily flat-lined, would have completely shutdown if it weren't for a breathy "please, Guido."

The gunman hefted the blond up before twisting to throw him on his back further on to the bed with a startled yelp. He looked gorgeous, hard cock jutting past creamy silk, hair disheveled, panting and glimmering with sweat, legs parted enough to glimpse the base of a soft lavender plug. Discarding his underwear, Mista got started on those gorgeous legs, pulling stained panties down, mourning the loss of tension in the belts, but the feeling of sliding fingers under sheer cloth, fitted tight against skin made up for it. Scooting closer, Mista shivered when he felt at the plug again, the blond pressing back down against the hard plastic, pulling it gently backwards and swallowing at the sight of Giorno's hole stretched over it. The blond gasped as Mista pushed it back in, squirming and clutching the sheets as he pushed and pulled, marveling at the sight. When he finally pulled it all the way out, setting the toy aside, he got a rather unusual idea despite himself as he looked at the open, oozing entrance.

Mista had never eaten ass, never even thought about it, he didn't even know he liked dudes until a year or two before he met Giorno. He'd eaten girls out plenty of times, but never a guy... But looking at Giorno, eyes watching smugly like he knew exactly what Mista was thinking, he supposed there was a first time for everything. Hiking up the blond's hips, Mista forewent tact and slid his tongue deep into loosened muscle, nose pressed against flesh, holding firm against the involuntary bucking of his lover. Sliding his tongue around, in and out, thumbs pressing to the sides, stretching, dripping saliva, his own hips jerking- Mista was surprised. Not at the taste so much; it tasted like ass, and a little like plastic, and like so much of the blond's favorite strawberry lube, but also something... Giorno. It wasn't the sexiest thing, tongue up a dude's ass, nose pressed against a taint and ballsack, but the noises, god- Giorno was loud, half begging as he spasmed and rutted, cock ready to burst.

It was an intoxicating feeling reducing him to a needy mess, and if it weren't for his own erection he'd probably have tried to get him off untouched. There would be a next time though, and it wasn't so bad now that he knew what to expect. Pulling back and chuckling at the disgruntled huff he got, Mista grabbed a condom and earned a pleased hum as he tore it open. Mista stilled as he touched his cock to slide the condom on, inching it over the sensitive flesh, careful not to come right then and there. Stilling the impatient jerks of his lover with one hand and lining himself up with the other, Mista slid in... faster and easier than he thought he would, bottoming out with a groan as Giorno shivered. He was still tight, but so wet and loud and warm, it was an impossibly good mix that had him jerking erratically a few thrusts in as Giorno bucked to meet his movements, practically screaming his name. Pulling out to the tip, and sliding back in slower than Giorno usually liked, Mista marveled at the lube and saliva dripping and splattering, the way his cock disappeared so easily, how hot and soft and tight-

Giorno had seized up, reddened fingers clenched white knuckled in the sheets, mouth opened in a silent scream as his chest was splattered with come.

Mista continued to fuck him through it, impossibly close himself, Giorno whimpering slightly at the overstimulation but managing a "don't stop, please."

Mista didn't think he'd be able to even if he tried. Giorno dutifully shifted his hips and the changing angle had Mista groaning as he pounded harder and faster, Giorno twitching and practically breathing his name, spent cock weakly springing back to half-hardness by the time Mista finally came. His orgasm hit like a freight-train, leaving him rutting weakly as he jerked through the aftershocks, panting like a marathon runner. By the time he'd recovered enough to open his eyes, Giorno was fast asleep, trickle of drool sliding down the side of his mouth, breathing heavy and deep. He was beautiful, even with his hair a mess, drooling, snoring, and sweating, making Mista smile.

Pulling out with a wet noise and weak twitch from both parties, Mista took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and after some careful deliberation, threw the toothbrush away before grabbing a wet cloth. Giorno barely reacted to the clean-up, but as soon as Mista slid next to him, pulling the covers up he had attached himself to the gunman's side like a limpet.

Nap time it was then.

Mista got up first, maneuvering his way out from under the sticky unconscious mass of Giorno to clean up a little and get started on food because wow he was really hungry and it was really late. There was a muffled 'ouch' midway through boiling the pasta, some loud shuffling, and then the water turned on. Not hearing any calls for assistance or otherwise, Mista continued cooking a simple meal from what he could scavenge from the blond's paltry cabinets. The water shut off right as he scooped dinner onto some fancy plates, bedroom door opening when water glasses were set down. Giorno looked fucked out, hair loosely curled around his face in more of a ponytail than a braid and still dripping from the ends, sleepy eyes that said 'I'm only awake because of hunger'. He had on an incredibly loose shirt Mista recognized as his and boxer briefs padding barefoot over to a chair, sitting with a poorly concealed wince. Mista felt an abrupt stab of smug pride at making Giorno practically limp to the table.

"Thank you for dinner, Mista," the blond said drowsily, already shoveling pasta into his mouth.

"It's the least I could do," settling down across from the blond, "Happy Valentine's Day, Giorno."

Later, when Giorno was passed out on the couch with Bridezilla's blaring on the television, a neighbor would greet Mista with his first name as he took out the trash. He'd think nothing of it until he went back upstairs, hand on the doorknob before he'd remembered he'd never actually been introduced to Giorno's neighbors.

Chapter Text

Mista watched in rapt attention as soft yellow hypnotizingly, tantalizingly stretched before his eyes.

It was a bright Tuesday afternoon, just past 2:30 and he had invited himself over to Giorno's apartment as per usual. The blond never seemed to mind, often doing the same, however, today Mista had finally walked in on the blond's yoga routine, downward dog greeting him as he opened the door.

"Oh, Mista. I thought you were at work?"

Normally pale cheeks were a little pink, the braid was up in a bun, and he was in a cute salmon crop tank and yellow yoga pants -that were sinfully tight- ensemble. Not taking his eyes off the prize, Mista cooly shut the door and sat down in a random chair.

"It was slow so they let me out an hour early."

"Oh! How fortuitous, I was meaning to talk to you, let me just pack this up-"

"No, no it is perfectly fine, you keep doing what you are doing, we can still talk."

Blond eyebrows quirked up, but he continued his whatever yoga actually entailed that involved a pert butt being raised into the air. A glorious minute passed before he bittersweetly moved on to the next pose. Goodbye, beautiful sun, Mista mourned, how he wished he could have given soft yellow a touch before it was gone. Giorno moved on to the next pose- god he was flexible- before finishing what he was going to say.

"I'd like to go on a date, Mista."

Uh, that was certainly an interesting way of going about it, but "sure, you ah, sound like you got something in mind already."

He moved on to the next pose, the butt was back as he leaned down, Mista couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Yes, actually, the City Festival is this weekend, and I have Saturday morning off."

Yoga pants were magical. So stretchy.

"I had heard you had the day off too. What do you think?"

Oh, shit he was talking still.


Blue eyes turned to meet his and were narrowed-

"Festival this weekend? Sounds like a plan," thumb up for good measure, and apparently he guessed right.

Giorno relaxed, smiling "lovely, would you like to meet at your place?"

A thinly veiled request for Mista to drive, "sure, my place is fine."


Giorno was, quite frankly, a head turner. Going out in public with him involved a lot of people of all ages and genders flirting, complementing, asking him out even though Mista was right here next to him for God's sake, trying to take pictures with him, and on one memorable occasion proposing. Giorno, the blessed angel, seemed surprised every time and was kind to everyone, but did look elsewhere when Mista punched the proposal guy in the face that one time (the ensuing police incident went along the lines of 'no, Mr. Officer, I didn't see who did it, but I'll keep an eye out' with an overkill smile).

So, Mista prepared himself this time, hardly surprised when Giorno apeared at his door with large sunglasses, Mista's old letterman jacket (where did he find that), short shorts, and some converse. "I've come up with a disguise," he had said, very seriously too. He still had his usual hairstyle, three donuty spirals and a braid, but Mista supposed his eyes were hidden and he looked younger dressed like that?

Honestly it just made him look more like a model.

For Giorno though, looking this casual and relaxed was actually different enough to be a disguise oddly enough.As backwards as that logic was.

"Yeah, babe, looks good, where'd you find my jacket?"

"It was in your closet."

Well, whatever, he wasn't wearing it anyway, too okay with his current clothing options (almost everything he had on was covered in tiger stripes, like God intended). Locking up, getting on his motorcycle, indulging in some light kissing and groping because damn those shorts are short, the couple eventually headed out to the fairgrounds.

The 'fair' was actually more of a full-blown festival that spanned several blocks on the edge of the shopping district, where businesses tapered off into empty lots, perfectly sized for dubious rides and attractions and seedy merchants and vendors. Their crazy, noisy, bizarre town was home to a pretty diverse community too, so there was always a little bit of everything.

He just hoped that none of the shooting range booths would remember him.

As soon as they were parked and within site of some of the stalls, Giorno made a bee-line straight to the closest sweets vendor, Mista in tow. Two lemonades (with sherbert in them! Wow!), some various weird and deep-fried candies, a big wad of cotton candy, and some other assorted and very unhealthy carnival foods later, the two began browsing various rides. Mista had a deep distrust towards all of the scramblers and tiny coasters, citing all sorts of statistics and design flaws. Giorno conceeded on all but one: the town ferris wheel.

The aging pinwheel of imminent death had been in the town for many generations, was constantly either shut down or stuck, and was too beloved to get rid of or update because literally everyone and their grandmas had ridden it as a kid. It was wedged deep in the collective heart of the community like a splinter that should have been removed but got covered over with skin so whoops too late now. Except with more pretty lights, peeling lead paint, and weird murals all over it. Seriously was that a hyena or a horse or what.

"I always was a fan of the lion dog," Giorno mused as they waited in line, "artists sometimes do funny things when attempting to recreate animals."

"Is it a dog?"

"Mm possibly, what did you think it was?"

"Uh, hyena horse," Giorno made a little 'oh', "why do we gotta ride the wheel of death?"

"It's tradition, Mista," Giorno had on one of his serious faces, which meant either he was actually serious or about to pull an elaborate scheme.

Mista feared both.

"Okay, but if we die on this, because we totally will, I'm gonna haunt you forever."

"That's so romantic," blond-tinged eyelashes fluttered.

"Yeah, I guess. Hey! You believe in ghosts giving blowjobs? Like when celebrities claim to have sex with ghosts?"

"I had never heard about that before. It sounds made up."

After twenty minutes discussing the logistics of obscene ghost related acts, much to the disgust of the other people in line, it was finally their turn to get in one of the ancient and half rusted booths. Mista wasn't normally considered claustrophobic, but if he had to describe the four-person, enclosed, deathbox... he'd go with 'coffin-like'. Fortunately the couple behind them refused to get in the same one as them, leaving them the whole meter by meter square of peril. The seats were super uncomfortable wooden slats, there was gross trash on the floor and on both sides above each bench were large signs that said 'NO INDECENT ACTS ON THIS RIDE PERMITTED'.

"Huh, what a neat sign," Mista mused loudly over the grinding terror mechanisms of the ferris wheel, Giorno pressed against his side, drawing weird shapes on his thigh.

About three fourths of the way up the mechanisms came to a deafening stop, followed by a loud clunk, a few screams, and some other ominous noises.  They were now stuck on some nightmarish doom machine until either it inevitably collapsed or until the crews on site could get them down/fix it. He really hope the structure didn't give out.

"Oh no, it appears to have been jammed," Giorno said in feigned surprise, "guess we're stuck for a bit, hm."

"Don't tell me- you actually planned this," Mista half-shouted.

Giorno merely raised a golden eyebrow, "Mista, how could I have planned this? Don't be silly."

He did, he totally planned this, he planned a double suicide.

"Oh my god, Giorno-"

"Shall I get your mind off things?"

Mista's mouth snapped shut with a whimper. That sounded... promising. Possibly illegal, and definitely against the rules of the ride.

Mista tried for disinterested and nonchalance, "I dunno..."

He was very interested.

"I promise, you'll love it," with an impish grin and a wandering hand.

The ride was back up and running in about forty-seven minutes, plenty of time to indulge in some quality bonding time that left Mista unable to make eye contact with the ride operators. Giorno seemed way too pleased with himself, giggling at a very flustered Mista as he went for another lemonade.

As they walked, Mista finally ended up spotting the shooting range booths towards the side. The prizes sat on dusty shelves, hardly touched next to their smug proprietors who had no doubt rigged their setups. No matter though- Mista was considered an expert marksman for a reason: darts, frisbees, knocking phones into cups using physics, video games, ring tosses: his aim was impeccable.

Spying for something good, the gangster jabbed a thumb over to a booth, "hey Giorno, you want a stuffed giraffe?"

Giorno looked interested, an eyebrow raised incredulously, "you know those are all rigged, right?"

Mista waggled his eyebrows, "not for me."

Giorno smirked, pulling out a designer wallet and slipping a few small bills into Mista's hands, "oh?"

"Get ready to see how awesome I am," Mista gloated before making his way up to his first victim.

Exchanging the bills for five rings, Mista stepped up to the rows of bottles and eyed the high point ones interspersed throughout while testing the weights of each ring. Targets aquired, the gunman easily flicked his wrist, sending light plastic rings floating down and hooking on the necks of five inconveniently placed bottles. A perfect score. Giorno clapped lightly as the seedy proprietor gaped, he had over-shot and earned enough points for more than an adorable giraffe. Picking out the plushie and some cool action figures, Mista pulled out some more cash as the proprietor began sweating hard.

"Another round, if you would," Mista grinned wolfishly.

The proprietor looked close to tears, "haha, sir, surely you would- why not try the next stall over? They have watches, and- and gift cards!"

Mista turned to Giorno who shrugged, before sighing, "fine, fine, we'll go to them. Thanks for the business old man."

The other stall did have better prizes, and instead of a ring toss it was an actual shooting range with weak pellet guns. The targets were probably locked in place at the bottom, but all the high point ones were small and were moving on belts, and after some careful watching, he could see that the toy guns were pretty low power. No wonder he felt safe to have so many nice prizes.

"Which do you want?"

Humming when Giorno pointed out a few, most coinciding with what he wanted too. He'd need about 430 points for all of it but it shouldn't be a problem, he just needed the right tool.

Stepping up to one of the tied down toys he'd watched like a hawk, Mista slapped a wad of money down, "I'd like to have a go."

The guy charged double what the others did, and given the slight dust on some of the prizes, did not have very many winners. The seedy man gathered up the wad and gave him 10 pellets of ammo, wishing him luck between cackles. Loading up the toy gun, Mista watched the high point targets move on the belt, noticing any jerks or kinks on the conveyor, and noting that they weren't even bolted down and would probably fall over with one well placed pellet. Sending out the first round as a pilot, Mista smirked in satisfaction as it ricocheted off the side of the aluminium target, causing it to wobble.

The owner went from scared to smug, "oh too bad, you were so close! Better luck-"

A crash as the target tipped over onto the dusty concrete below, effectively silencing the operator who now had a look of fear. Mista could laugh, this was too easy now as he fired off the other nine pellets. One was a dud, but the other eight hit different high point disks, sending them crashing or flying to the ground as the owner gaped.

Mista whistled as Giorno feigned surprise, "why Mista, you hit 9 of the 50 point targets didn't you?"

"It appears so Giorno, that means we have 450 points to spend, what do you wanna get?"

Leaving with their spoils to the broken sobs of the owner, the two made their way through the sea of people and various game stalls. One particular sign caught Giorno's attention, tugging the gangster towards the booth. It was a goldfish catching stall, tiny pool full of orange fish swimming amiably.

"Now it's my turn to impress you," Giorno smiled deviously as he traded a few notes for a flimsy fish catching paddle thing.

He was given two minutes to catch as many goldfish as he could, each worth five points, and Mista gaped at the amount of fish filling the blonds bucket in the alloted time frame, the owner watching on in horror. The tally ended up being well over a hundred and fifty points, the owner whispering 'I didn't even have that many fish' in shock and awe.

Giorno hummed, "I'm up ten points from last year, Mista, what prizes would you like?"

Soft warmth spread from his heart because God he was so in love with this boy with his angelic smile and devilish humor. Lugging their piles of prizes away from the now-closed goldfish catching stand, Mista let himself relax and enjoy the bright atmosphere of the fair, the smells, the sounds, the very familiar Italian accents to his side-

That was Gyro Zeppeli, helping prop up Johnny Joestar while he decimated the same shooting range game Mista destroyed. He could also see Josuke fighting Kishibe Rohan off of his cotton candy while Okuyasu mauled an ice cream cone with someone tall and with interesting facial piercings. Hirose Koichi, local radio host, could be heard over the din too, probably only a few booths over and trying to talk someone down from attacking a woman. Jotaro was staring as put-out looking as possible, being consoled by a red haired man in front of the closed goldfish stall as Mista's downstairs neighbor with the silver hair ate famously spicy fried peppers with the Egyptian tea-shop owner nearby. Jolyne was surrounded by her entire gang as she racked up a high score at a basketball booth, while it sounded like Jonathan broke a strength test machine given all the polite yet harried apologies. They were surrounded by Joestars and their companions.


This... this was freaking ridiculous.

"Giorno, your entire family is here," Mista observed.

His entire family was also wrecking havoc on the festival, much like a hurricane ripped through the property values of a luxurious beach-front community. Given the damages it was looking like a pretty accurate statement.

Giorno looked bemused, staring intently at a pastry vendor, "oh, yes, the festival is quite the tradition on this side of the family. Although, half the stalls have banned us at this point."

The pastry vendor was aware of the blond's staring, and was glancing around nervously, "how have you guys not been banned completely?"

The pastry vendor looked terrified as blue eyes bore seemingly into her soul, "it's amazing what several large public works donations can do for opinions."

The pastry vendor performed a quick Hail Mary, "so uh, the nicer version of a bribe? Pretty sure that's at least a tiny bit bribe-y."

Giorno's head tilted subtly to the menu, the pastry vendor was being consoled by another worker, "please, my papa doesn't bribe people. He's merely endearing and hard to dislike due to his noble and earnest disposition."

Giorno eventually seemed to relent his desire for baked goods, much to the relief of the pastry vendor, "right, so a not-bribe."

At that the blond turned to face him, a curious look in his eyes... probably, he was still wearing sunglasses, "does my family intimidate you?"

They absolutely, one hundred percent do, "whaaat? Absolutely not! They're cool, your family is completely cool, love 'em like my own."

A single golden eyebrow arched up from behind large dark lenses, "oh? That's good to hear. My papa is very fond of you."

Good to hear but "your papa is fond of everyone."

Giorno laughed, starting to walk towards the edge of the festival, back to where they were parked, "yes but he's curious if there might be future plans."

Uh, "future plans?"

"Future plans," the blond looked back with a smirk, "you know the kind."

Mista huffed at that, "I know you are the product of some kind of miracle of science or just two dudes loving each other a whole lot-"

"I do have a mother too."

"Fine two dudes and a chick doing something, or shit maybe babies do come from storks or cabbage or whatever," Giorno chuckled brightly at that, "but I'm sorry, Giorno."

The blond turned back, confused, "what for?"

"We can't make a baby," Mista deadpanned.

Confusion broke into a wide smile as the blond snorted loudly and dissolved into a fit of laughter that had tears running down from underneath his sunglasses, Mista joining in not long after, clutching his sides. Ignoring the stares and grimaces of the people passing them by, the two eventually managed to calm down enough to tie down all of their prizes and head home.

As Mista settled down to sleep, Giorno already wrapped around him like a pale and heavy breathing blanket, that Mista would reflect on the blond's words. Future plans? Ones that Papa Joestar would be interested in for his son.

Future plans.



Mista's eyes went wide.

Oh god he was talking about marriage.

Chapter Text

It was the first of May and for the whole month of April, Mista had been scarce.

Buccellati knew better than to send the gunman out during this time, even just for coffee, so he'd been on desk duty when he wasn't holed up in his apartment cowering. His work had been confused at him using up all of his carefully collected sick days and shift trades, but Mista just couldn't do April. It was the worst month and no matter what day it was still the fourth month and he just couldn't do it. Giorno had been- well, an angel about it really. He never forced the numbers like Abbachio and Fugo sometimes did, or laughed at him like Narancia did exactly once; instead he helped him count, and understood why he would make it up to him on the first, and god he loved this boy.

So much so, that it led to the current dick being pressed into his ass.

"Mista, relax," the blond soothed from behind.

He didn't know how, it was- he'd never had- how could he?

"Uhhhn," was all he managed to articulate as his thighs tensed, and his forehead dropped to his arms.

Giorno chuckled, rubbing light circles on the gunman's hips, "it'll feel much better all the way in, I promise."

How did Giorno do it? From now on, he'd spend as long as the blond would need for prep work. Huffing and trembling, Mista managed to unclench enough for Giorno to slide in all the way, the sensation forcing a choked gasp from his throat.

It felt... Weird.

Full, and weird. Like he had to take a massive shit, and a bit too much with every tiny movement reminding him there was currently something in there. It wasn't uncomfortable, not exactly, but it was... so weird.

Giorno was kneading and spreading his cheeks with a fond smile as Mista buried his face in his arms and pillow, "how are you doing?"

Mista did not know.

How was he doing?

Not bad but he was something.

He was getting kind of used to the feeling when Giorno suddenly slid out a few inches making him squirm, "I ah- what if t-this isn't for me, ya know?"

The blond laughed airily, "Mista, we've not even really started, trust me, okay?"

Thing is, Mista did trust Giorno.

Completely, would-walk-through-fire-if-he-directed level of trust here he was so devoted. The blond had helped save his life, and gave him a chance, and loved and cared about him with complete disregard to his education or occupation, despite his wrongly wired brain.

He just- wasn't so sure if he could do this?

Damn if Giorno believing he could do it didn't light a fire in him though. He missed seeing the smile he got in response when he pushed his hips back, but he did catch the stilted gasp. And that- that wasn't so bad... pressing back and continuing to meet each movement of the blond's hips, he decided it was kinda hot making Giorno riled up from underneath him...

Eventually Giorno picked up a gentle pace, taking his time to get the gunman acclimated to the feeling. It was really sweet, and Mista was beginning to feel... something building deep inside him, something at the base of his spine. Something kinda good that he couldn't place but it made him push backd against the blond's cock more for himself rather than Giorno.

This... it was actually feeling pretty good now.

Abruptly the gunman's phone rang, startling him out of the daze he fell into.

"Is... is it important," the blond asked, out of breath, and fuck that was hot.

It was also Fugo's ringtone so "y-yeah," since he only called when it was really important and Buccelati was too busy.

Giorno reached over the gangster, who grunted at the blond using him for support as he grabbed the burner on the nightstand, grinding out a darkly annoyed "can I help you?"

Mista stiffened.

Oh no.

Giorno was using his mafia boss voice, and Mista could feel his cock twitch interestedly, "I'm afraid he's indisposed right now, but I can pass on a message."

Fugo wouldn't dare, not with gang stuff, and Mista could hear tinny muted protests from the speaker. He was too preoccupied with trying to stamp down the burst of burning arousal currently working it's way through him before the blond caught on to deal with that though.

"No, he is not available to talk."

Giorno had practically growled and Mista clenched involuntarily, quickly smushing his face into the pillow to muffle his moaning, but it was too late, Giorno inhaled sharply behind him.

"Mista," Giorno purred, the gangster immediately looking backward to meet his interested and amused eyes, phone dampened against his neck in order to hide the inevitable conversation from Fugo, "was that what I thought it was?"

This was not good-well it was, extremely so, but also not.

There were a lot of things about Giorno, or things he could do, that Mista found undeniably hot. His lips were hot, his ass, his legs, his personality, but his voice... when he got irritated, the blond would drop into this dark yet calm, unintentionally sexy tone that haunted Mista's wet dreams like some sort of swamp creature. It was authoritative, demanding, primal in the best sort of way, a way that had Mista's sex pistol ready to shoot if you know what he meant.

But the gangster was pretty unsure about following this particular rabbit hole with company he'd have to see at work tomorrow.

"Uhhh, I-I don't know what you're talking about," Mista stammered, shoving his face back into the pillow.

Giorno was unconvinced, Mista was fucked (or about to be), and maybe he could smother himself before he died of embarrassment.

"Oh yes, Mista is here with me... no, I can't let you speak to him," Giorno was back on the phone, free hand trailing up a tan spine.

Mista shivered, "you get him every day of the year, I can have him just this once, don't you think?"

Punctuated with a sudden snap of his hips that made Mista moan loudly with an eloquent, "uhnnn."

Giorno had started up a pace, faster than before and at a different angle that met each word, "we can continue to talk though, Fugo, he can listen in, can't you, Mista?"

Mista couldn't exactly focus, but Giorno's tone had him breathing out a "yes sir" as he gripped the sheets, although he wasn't sure what he'd actually agreed to or why he just referred to his boyfriend as 'sir'.

This certainly was an interesting time to learn he had a new kink.

Or two.

The pace had Mista gasping into the pillow and his legs trembling, he didn't think he was all that sensitive inside, but then again he had never actually tried to find out. It also probably didn't help that his body had long since acclimated to the intrusion.

His phone beeped louder, Giorno had turned up the volume, "so, tell us, what's so important?"

Mista swallowed down a whimper as he attempted to listen in over the wet slap behind him, but he couldn't focus on Fugo's stilted voice as the weirdly good sensation built its way back up and faster this time.

"Oh? That's rather serious," Giorno was just as collected as usual, if a bit more sultry, like he wasn't pounding a man into oblivion but was seducing one into bed, "don't you think so, Fugo?"

Fugo sounded like a stammering mess, voice pitched higher thanks to either Giorno's tone or the shitty phone speakers; Mista would laugh if he wasn't so busy trying not to be picked up by the phone receiver.

"Would you like to know what you could do," Giorno offered while gently pushing Mista's legs apart with his free hand, still holding his pace, "they'd find one easy enough, but if you stole a hundred..."

Mista was practically choking on his noises, the new position easier for Giorno to hit his prostate; he was lost in the physical stimulation and Giorno's authoritative voice and the idea that he liked being bossed around and maybe even a little bit of exhibitionism. Not that the last one was too horribly shocking. Now he just needed Giorno to cooperate, but it seemed that as soon as he got close the blond would slow down and spend a bit more time chatting until he had calmed down.

Fed up and bracing on an arm, Mista reached down to get himself off only for a hand to knock his away, "no touching, Mista, not yet."

"Giorno," Mista whimpered quietly, he was not above begging, not in this sort of situation, "I gotta-I need, I really need to- I could die-"

That got Giorno to chuckle, "you aren't going to die," Fugo mumbling into the phone in a probably concerned voice, "you are doing just fine."

Mista groaned loudly, slumping down only to yelp at the sudden sensation, ignoring the blond's breathless giggles and Fugo's worried questions. Ugh, why hadn't he hung up yet? Things were going to be so awkward at work tomorrow he just knew it.

"Mmm, right, where were we, Fugo?"

Mista groaned even harder, pushing back with a puff, "Giorno, get on with it, c'mon," god he was so close.

The blond simply chuckled, before saying some more polite yet subtly loaded goodbyes to Fugo, flicking the burner flip phone shut with a click.

"He was so nice," Giorno mused, tossing the phone aside and returning both hands to the gunman's sides, "unlike you," teasingly.

"Fugo doesn't have a dick up his ass," Mista griped, wiggling his hips pointedly.

"You don't seem to mind that as much as you are letting on," he could practically hear the devilish smirk in the blond's words, "in fact, you didn't seem to mind several things."

"Uhhh, yeah about that-"

"Does being bossed around get you off, Mista?"

Giorno had two settings when it came to talking: vague and mercurial like an oracle or blunter than an iron pipe. In lieu of a response Mista spluttered while gathering the sides of the pillow up to cover the red flush he knew was in his ears and cheeks. Who just- who just asks that!

"Who just asks that," Mista wheezed.

Giorno merely pressed his chest against the gangster's back, stretching over him to whisper in a burrowed ear, "you didn't answer my question."

The blond was sliding his hands up tan sides, fingers catching lightly on Mista's pebbled nipples, the press of skin on skin across his back sending electrifying shocks down his body. He had to struggle not to make any super embarrassing noises- just the normal level of embarrassing noises if the stilted gasps and moans were anything to go off.

"D-damn Giorno, don't rile a guy up if you don't plan on takin' responsibility," Mista halfheartedly grouched, face planted into the soft pillow.


Oh no.

"Tell me."

"Yes sir, I do, sir."

This was truly an educational experience


The next day at work was not too bad, it was a low day and the gang was scattered around the city for the most part doing stake-outs, trades, etc. Mista was a little sore in odd places, but overall a nice easy day.

Until Fugo walked back in as Mista was getting ready to leave

Immediately the platinum-blond flushed, eyes widening and looking anywhere but the gunman's direction. Mista was not going to have this conversation- even though his own traitor body was probably just as red at this point. Why was Fugo body-blocking the damn door. As the gunman was eyeing the nearby window and doing some quick mental math on the probability of death if he jumped through it for a quick escape, Fugo finally worked up the nerve to speak.

"So uh, Giorno is kind of really sexy."

Mista was now doing mental math on the probability of getting away with Fugo's murder.

The chances were better than the window.

Chapter Text

Time flew by, days spent in a simple routine, Giorno quickly becoming the sun at the center of his orbit- or however planets and shit worked. He was officially a manager at his legal job and that was kind of cool (he'd never been any kind of boss before) and the days became busier but in a good way. Things were going great, which made the sudden turn for the worse all the more jarring, when one bright summer day- somebody seemed to pluck the sun right out of the sky.

It had been raining nearly constantly for almost an entire week straight, and things had been so very quiet. His gang and his job not so much, but his beautiful golden boy had been busy and then suddenly incommunicado. Mista was a laid-back guy in general, he didn't care for people chatting him up all the time and he didn't keep tabs on people (unless it was a job and then, hey well that was a job), so the radio silence didn't set off any alarm-bells immediately.

Giorno had a very successful life outside of Mista and he respected that- hell, he loved it. Giorno had crazy hours at the hospital and his classes had started and he joined the fencing team because it looked cool and he volunteered at the animal shelter and Trish liked taking him clubbing and he had started going to Buccelati's book club- point was Giorno was a very busy guy. But around the third day of not even a good morning text... Mista broke.

Making his way to the blond's apartment, he knocked three times, and after a few moments without an answer he slipped out the spare key. Giorno's place always looked full of life, lived in and yet still immaculate. Not a single object out of place- even Mista's comic books were still neatly stacked where he left them, a reciept bookmarking his place and a fancy real bookmark for where Giorno left off. The only sign that maybe something wasn't right were the plants. Touching his fingers to the dirt and looking at the slight wilt to the leaves, he saw they hadn't been watered in a few days.

Upon seeing him, the tiny birds in their extravagant cage began chirping up at him, food close to empty and water running low. Something was definitely not right- those birds and these plants were Giorno's pride and joy. The parakeet liked Mista more than the songbirds, sitting amiably on his shoulder as he refilled the food and water the way he saw Giorno do it. He needed to figure out what happened. He was all alone in the apartment so... so maybe he could get away with trying something really dumb.

But it might just work.

Jostling the parakeet onto his hand, Mista focused and whispered, as imploring as he could, "alright Gold Experience, buddy, pal, we gotta find Giorno, so if you secretly know how to talk, now would be a good time to do it."

The bird just side-eyed him, before cheeping and bouncing around on his hand, pecking his beak down randomly. Yeah, okay, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it probably should have been that.

His personal phone suddenly rang, catching him before he could feel too stupid and embarassed over talking all serious to a bird, raising it up to his ear with a "pronto?"

A slightly fuzzy and faked-jovial voice answered, "hello Mista, it's me, Jonathan! How are you today?"

Okay, now Giorno's dad was calling him, "uh hi, Mr. Joestar, I'm good? How about you?"

He was now apparently making small talk with Giorno's dad, "oh I'm fine, I'm fine. You ah- wouldn't happen to have seen my son recently, would you?"

He was now positive Giorno was missing, "no, no sir I haven't."

But Mista would find him.

The first step would be figuring out where the blond was last, which would seem to be here luckily enough. Giorno's schoolbag was laid out on a chair, still full of his textbooks that meant he hadn't stopped to study, and a few cleaned scrubs were left out on his bed, work shoes and bag gone, but his car still in the lot. There were no signs of a scuffle, so he must have been nabbed somewhere between here and his way to work at the hospital.

Mista channeled his inner crime detective, summoning up all the things he had learned from watching about 15 seasons combined of television crime drama. After about three hours of finding no leads (all of Giorno's neighbors were old people, hungover frat boys, or one very crazy cat lady), no evidence, nothing- he finally caved and asked the gang for help.

In about 30 minutes and with some prodding from Buccelati, Abbachio pinpointed the blond to a warehouse down in the east side, by the docks. Fugo helpfully provided a list with the kidnappers names and faces, Narancia gave him his switchblade for luck, and Trish just told him to "call the cops, you dramatic idiot".

"You don't understand Trish, I gotta rescue him," Buccelati clapped a hand on his shoulder as Trish groaned to the side.

"Are you certain about this? It'll be dangerous. There are four people involved in this kidnapping- all of whom have violent histories."

Okay, he really didn't need to know how many people were involved but damnit, "I gotta do this- no matter the danger. Giorno's in big trouble and what kind of guy would I be if I didn't save him?"

Buccelati nodded proudly, "you are a good man, Mista."

"And uh hey, if I like- kill one of the thugs then there will only be three scary dudes so n-no problem right?"

Everyone nodded at that, Narancia helpfully adding a halting "definitely! Good plan!"

Mista nodded too, and now that he and everyone else had finished nodding, it was time to get down to business. Loading up his motorcycle with rope, loading himself up with ammo, Mista set off. Time to be a hero. Like Clint Eastwood or- or Bruce Lee. Wait no, he was gonna be Batman.

It took 20 minutes to get to the warehouse, and another few minutes to case it out. Nobody was keeping watch in the outside, which meant they were probably all keeping eyes on the doors, most of which were closed or half-open. Well if they were watching the ground, Mista thought spying the roof of the warehouse, they probably wouldn't see him come from above. Quickly scaling up the side of the warehouse- he really needed to do more parkour with Narancia, he was out of practice- Mista made it to the roof, if breathing heavily.

There were glass skylights, a few broken, but he spotted blurry blobs through one very gross but intact one and didn't see any in the others. A yellow shape that looked like it was sitting down, a yellow shape in front and to the side, a purplish shape behind what had to be Giorno, and two more further behind. They were all just standing around Giorno- in perfect range if he dropped in from this skylight like a badass. The thought of what could be happening to his poor angel made his blood boil, so he quickly but securely attached the rope to a roof-mounted venty thing that looked pretty well bolted down, did some quick math on how far the drop was, tied some rope, and then kicked the skylight pane as hard as he could, dislodging it and jumping down with a yell.

He had caught all the bastards off guard, shouting "alright assholes- let Giorno go or I'll... blow... uh"

Dio Brando was standing disinterestedly in front of a roughed up Giorno, sneering at the sight of him, Vanilla Ice untying the blond from behind, two random people with guns staring shocked still. He could see boots poking out of a doorway to the side.


Giorno was looking at him with wide eyes, blue and watery- he had a split lip and some nasty bruises, a tiny cut on his temple, "Mista?"

Dio sneered impossibly harder, "you are late, we already took care of everything so you can run along now."

Vanilla Ice had cut through whatever the last of the binding was, Giorno immediately shooting up to hug Mista tight, "you came to save me."

Mista dropped his pistol in favor of wrapping arms around the blond, "of course I did-"

"What are you talking about? I saved him!" Dio snapped in exasperation.

Ignoring him, Mista moved to cup bruised cheeks, "do I gotta take you to the hospital? They hurt you real bad? It looks like they did-"

"No, no I'm- it's okay," it didn't look okay, "I'm just so happy you are here."

Dio was half-yelling, "I'm right here! I literally am right here, having just saved you!"


The blond had buried his face into Mista's shoulder, holding almost painfully tight, sirens beginning to wail in the distance, "thank you, I...", Mista just held tighter, patting a thin shoulder since the blond seemed content to not continue speaking.

Dio was in the background being consoled by his entourage, "what am I- chopped liver?", "no, no boss, you did good," "yeah he may not have spoken to you but I'm sure he appreciated it," Vanilla said nothing but his silence was probably comforting.

Dio cleared out before the police arrived, making sure to point his most murderous glare at the gunman, leaving them standing in the middle of the warehouse. In a fortuitous chain of events Josuke and Okuyasu were on call, pulling up and both freaking out at Giorno. Luckily they paid no mind to Mista who was trying to cover his pistol and hide his ammo better. Dio had apparently left the beaten up kidnappers piled high in a broom closet, and at the mention of his name both cops sighed heavily.

"No offense Giorno but your dad spells nothing but paperwork," Josuke started, smoothing out his crazy pompadour as he inspected the scene, Okuyasu taking notes diligently by his side with surprisingly neat handwriting.

They mostly questioned Giorno, thankfully leaving Mista and his non-involvement as a footnote. Guess it had perks becoming involved in the family... and not actually doing much. They were curious about the broken skylight and rope, but Giorno helped him play it off 'no officer it was already broken, I just used a rope to-you know, like Batman'. The police interrogation went pretty smooth, and they were let go in no time at all, Giorno pressing himself up behind Mista on his motorcycle as they sped off to Mista's apartment.

Giorno was sat on the couch as the gunman set the kettle on, grabbed the first aid kit, and brought over a cup of hot tea and a package of cookies he kept on hand for the blond. Giorno was very still while Mista blotted and cleaned all the cuts, never making a sound even though Mista wasn't the most naturally gentle guy out there. When he was all patched up and munching on some cookies, already relaxing into the couch and booting up Mista's Netflix and finding something weird to mess up the algorithm, Mista called up Buccelati.

His boss answered on the first ring, a curt "you made it safe?"

"Yeah boss, I'm good," he could hear Narancia in the background talking loudly.

"Is Giorno okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine," he could pick out his name and a 'he will be missed', "uh is Narancia talking about me?"

"Oh, yes, he insisted we have a funeral for you."

"Huh. Well tell him I'm not dead. I'll be back in tomorrow."

Buccelati hummed, "take care," before hanging up.

Grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and a towel to wrap it with, Mista meandered back over to the couch only to find Giorno gone- again. Mista stared in panic, an episode of Nailed It still running on the television, and where could he-

"Oh, you finished your call already?"

Squealing loudly, the gangster (who has killed people) whipped around to face a smiling Giorno, fresh from the shower with his hair still dripping.

"Jesus, Giorno, gonna give a guy heart problems or something," Mista griped, clutching his chest, "wait I might actually- my left arm is all tingly."

Giorno merely laughed, patting Mista's shoulder, "sorry but you are still a bit too young for that sort of thing. I really wanted a shower, plus it was nice to get up, I had been stuck in a chair for half a day."

The way he nonchalantly brushed off getting kidnapped had Mista's heart squeezing-and must have shown on his face, "it's alright, I've been kidnapped before, because of both fathers- oh no, I didn't mean to make you sadder-"

"Move in with me," blurted out before he caught up with his own racing thoughts.

Giorno was wide eyed, speechless and unmoving, "uh, n-not here, but like, we can get a place together. And I can keep you safe."

"You want to live together?"

I mean- they kind of were already doing that, just in two different places, "uh yeah if that's okay-"

"I had already started looking at places, but I wasn't sure about your feelings on the matter."

Of course, "where ever you want me to go, I'll go."

Chapter Text

Summer had arrived in full swing, temperatures at a blistering high, heat warnings blaring on all the news channels. It had been two months since Giorno and Mista had moved in together, at a place that was a hair less nice than the blond's apartment and way nicer than the gunmans.

It turned out that even nice apartments still had problems, because two days previously the air conditioner kicked the bucket. They had called for a repairman, but it seemed half the city had the same problem so they were stuck on a three day wait list. It was too hot to do too much, multiple fans blowing, all the windows opened wide, and yet still sweltering. Tempers had been flaring and the usual conflict resolution method of make-up sex was no longer viable.

These were truly the times that tested relationships.

It was rocky at first, as the beginning stages of living together always were- but so far most of the disagreements were around what went where and who had to do dishes this time and who kept eating all the ice cream. It probably helped that they had been living out of each others places for awhile. But as they laid sprawled out on the couch (Giorno's because it was nicer), only a tiny patch of thigh touching, sweating in the unbearable heat, watching their second Marvel movie in a row, Mista got an idea.

"Let's go to the beach," drawled over his third and last ice pop.

Giorno detached his eyes from Chris Evans' biceps long enough to glance at the gunman over his own ice pop, "in this heat?"

"Well, yeah, ocean breezes and water and shit gotta be cooler than being stuck here," he hoped.

"Hmm," Giorno looked thoughtfully back at the ridiculously pretty superheroes on screen, "it has been awhile since I've gone."

"All the more reason to go then, it'll be great."

Peeling themselves up from the couch the two made short work of gathering and preparing- long towels, suncreen, sunglasses, swimwear, snacks, drinks, all of it ending up either on a person or in the trunk of Giorno's car. As soon as they sat inside and the air conditioning kicked in, the two groaned in unison, basking in the cold air.

"Maybe we can just sit in the car for awhile," Mista suggested, cheek pressed against the vent.

"But I already put on sunscreen," Giorno replied, slumped over the wheel with two vents aimed at his face, "and told Trish."

"Trish is coming too?"

"Mmm, she wants a natural tan for one of her upcoming shoots."

"Fine, fine, I guess, if it's for Trish."

"That's kind of you, Mista."

He had run out things to say to stall their trip and it seemed Giorno was the same, eventually murmuring "another minute please."

"Take all the time in the world. I'm serious."

They eventually made it to the beach at the edge of the city, a stretch of soft white sand with plenty of coves and tide pools. It was scenic, not very crowded despite the season, and the cool ocean breeze was heavenly. There was a shock of pink hair down the strand under a large black and white umbrella that was unmistakably Buccelati's. The gang was all here then- somewhere at least. Giorno made a beeline to Trish, setting down the tiny pile of towels and bags to return her wave as Mista followed after carrying pretty much everything else.

"Hey boys," Trish lazily tipped her heart shaped sunglasses down to eye the label of Giorno's maximum strength sunscreen, before turning a judgmental glance at Mista, "really? Tiger striped swimwear? You are such a fashion disaster."

"I have cheetah print ones too," and he was damn proud of it.

Giorno merely laughed, taking off his shirt, tugging at Mista to do the same before leading him to the water.

"There you have it Trish, at least someone likes my fashion enough to be seen out in public with me," Mista said victoriously.

"Giorno is too nice, he doesn't count," Trish called after him.

Giorno looked back with a smirk, ankle deep in the salty water, "I think garish patters suit you."

Mista blinked, "was that a compliment? Or an insult?"

Giorno chuckled, splashing around but eyes fixated on the sandy ground below, until he had seemingly found whatever he was looking for. Ducking down, the blond lifted a massive horseshoe crab from below the waves, holding it up like a prize.

Shocked, Mista looked down- there were a lot of starfish, and crabs, and... and when did all these things get here? Why only this spot? Looking back up at Giorno, who was now covered in various sea creatures, smiling as angelic as possible, Mista decided today might be more bizarre than relaxing.

Giorno ended up taking him around three tide pools, a seaside cave, a more secluded tide pool, and then to a dock where they found Jotaro, who did his usual staredown with Giorno before carefully removing the starfish that had made a home on a pale shoulder on top of the other weird star birthmark before telling them he needed to get back to work. Whatever that entailed since it looked like he was just standing on the dock, but Mista wasn't a scientist so what did he know.

Frolicking done and all the wildlife put back, Giorno and Mista meandered back to Buccelati's umbrella, Abbachio having replaced Trish and busy having a nice heavy snooze under a pile of sand. Giorno didn't even spare the man a glance, instead finding and handing Mista the bottle of sunblock.

"It has to be applied every few hours in order to work, you know," a way too mischievous glimmer in his sweet smile, "would you do me a favor and help me apply it?"

Mista stared at the bottle, "Giorno," before squeezing a big glob onto his hands, "if I ever say no to something like this, I want you to take me out behind a shed."

Giorno chuckled, offering his back in response. Mista scooted closer, pretty much groping the blond as he worked the high spf lotion into pale skin, feigning innocence as he slid his hands around and up Giorno's sides, lightly brushing nipples and earning a hum. The blond's head abruptly turned, a hand rising up to grasp Mista's hair, guiding him into a passionate, if uncomfortable, kiss.

"Guido," the blond nipped and pecked as he broke away, "I'd love to continue, but I'd hate to get an indecent exposure charge."

Mista, slid his hands up and over pale shoulders, "that's fair, you wouldn't last five minutes in prison."

"Also there is a large man watching us."

That got Mista looking up and around to see that yes, a large- really large blob of a guy with modded red and black eyes was staring at them a short distance away while munching on a banana.

Mista's hands flew up immediately, Giorno finishing up the rest of the application by himself, "that's my bosses boss."

Giorno glanced back with an eyebrow quirked in amusement, "did I just make your workplace even more awkward now?"

Between Fugo propositioning the two of them with no finesse, Narancia's tasteless sex jokes and questions, as well as Trish's... 'insights'- Mista's workplace had certainly become interesting.

"Uh, yeah, maybe. I don't think Polpo cares too much about anything though."

Chance at a disgusting display of public affection now ruined, Mista leaned back and looked out over the beach. A lot more people had come by, mostly families, but... also most of his gang. He could see several La Squadra playing a way too intense game of beach volleyball against some of the higher ranked Passione guys, Nero cheering his team on in a bored monotone from under the shade of an umbrella. The ball ended up going out of bounds, bouncing off Polpo and smacking a maroon haired guy in the head- Vinegar Doppio.

Mista cringed at the impact- Gelato was officially fucked and it was pretty likely that the gang's volleyball privileges would be revoked. Nobody messed with... whoever or whatever the hell Doppio was in relation to the boss. On the other side of where he and Giorno sat, Mista's squad was messing around in the surf. It looked fun, Narancia, Fugo, and Trish splashing around in the waters as Buccelati inspected a few shells he found. It was peaceful and oddly nice, relaxing ocean breezes carrying salty smells along warmed sand.

A sudden cry pierced through the tranquility of the beach, both Giorno and Mista looking to find the source.

Narancia was crying out in pain, grasping his leg, holding it tucked up close and hopping on one foot in the receding shallows, "I got bit! My leg! I'm gonna die!"

Mista was up and over in an instant, pistol gleaming from it's place in the loose pockets of his swim trunks, "what bit you?"

Trish pointed down at a gloopy blob on the wet ground, "it was a jellyfish, Narancia got stung."

Mista let his hand fall from the handle of his pistol, bullets wouldn't do much against an evil trash bag, "you sure the jelly bit you?"

Narancia was vehemently affirming and Fugo tried to interject that it "wasn't biting, it's a sting caused by a venom tipped microscopic harpoon being released via a protein hook-"

Trish cut him off "yeah he's been stung by a jellyfish, what do we do?"

Mista blurted "aren't you supposed to pee on it?"

There was a pause, Narancia sniffled before dropping his shorts and screamed "this is for biting me, you fuck," and began urinating on the beached jellyfish.

Trish immediately began yelling at Narancia as Fugo smacked both hands over his face, complaining "Mista why would you tell him something like that."

"You are not supposed to urinate on the stings anyway, Mista," Buccellati added, "it's a myth."

Mista scratched a hand through his hair, embarassed "I really didn't expect him to piss on the thing."

"Excuse me," Giorno came up from behind the gunman, "I heard what happened and got my first aid kit. Mista, you shouldn't tell people to pee on jellyfish stings, it's a myth. And gross."

Mista heaved the most dramatic sigh, "I didn't tell him to."

Fugo had gone from exasperated to blushing schoolgirl, waving shyly at Giorno, "uh hello, GioGio."

Giorno offered him his patented golden smile, "hello, Fugo. Narancia if you could come with me to the shade?"

After several gross minutes of Giorno plucking all the little tentacle bits and flushing Narancia's now rashy leg, the scout was sent back off with a "no scratching."

Things went back to that soothing calm, Doppio had disappeared and in his place an incredibly buff and scary guy with familiar-looking pink hair had joined in the volleyball and was in some kind of deathmatch against Nero. Polpo had fallen asleep, seagulls beginning to nest atop his stomach, in the far distance Jotaro watched the waves from his place on the dock, unaware of the creeping shadow that was Jolyne sneaking up from behind. Narancia, Trish, and Fugo had switched to building a sandcastle while Buccelati practiced his seabird calls and identification. Giorno leaned into his shoulder, sun warmed and sandy.

It was good- life was good. He had to be the luckiest guy.

"Mista," the gunman hummed, "I think I'd like to be a GangStar."

Mista hummed again, before realizing, "do you mean a gangster?"

"No, I meant GangStar."

"Oh," Mista frowned slightly unsure the differences, "Giorno, don't join a gang."

Chapter Text

“Mista, will you attend a family dinner with me this Tuesday?”

“Oh? Sure- wait,” Mista caught himself but didn't look up from his game, “which side of the family,” he had a great streak going.

“The Joestars,” Giorno hummed from beside him, legs sprawled over the gunman's lap.

“Nice,” he had the highest kill to death ratio, “what's the occasion though,” smirking at Narancia's username filling the chat, complaining about him no doubt.

“You'll see,” Mista gave the blond a sidelong glance and gulped at the devilish smirk the blond was giving his phone.

This would either be incredibly awesome or incredibly terrifying.

The Joestars were hands down his favorite side of Giorno's family. They were all fun, relaxed, and charming (if a bit mind-bendingly beautiful), and certainly way nicer to be around than the Brando side. Family dinners were always much better with them anyway- Dio may have actual chefs, but the Joestars had a Holly.

Giorno hadn't really specified any kind of dress, but had helpfully left out some clothes for him when he came home from his shift at the store on Tuesday. His nicer looking but still casual leather pants as well as a nicer button up. Fancy but still casual. What was that, business casual or something?

Whatever it was, it was unusual.

He didn't have any time to ask about it before Giorno arrived home from his afternoon class and whisked him away. The blond had seemingly gone to class wearing a thin button up and a soft cardigan, slacks, and leather loafers. Mista managed to express how nice he looked, earning him a smile, a kiss on the cheek, and a shove into the passenger side of his car.

“Giorno, what exactly is all…,” waving a hand in exasperation at his inability to articulate- “this about?”

“I haven't told you?”


Giorno hummed, driving silently until he pulled up the driveway of the Joestar family mansion, turning to the mafioso as soon as the car was in park. He face was a hard mask of seriousness, eyes fixed on Mista as he absently locked the doors. Had the temperature of the car dropped or was it just him?

“I'm about to let you in on a family secret, one passed down through the generations- a tradition of high regard amongst the Joestars. One that is of utmost importance,” the blond's voice was cold and dark.

Mista gulped.

“You will find out once dinner is to be served,” the blond relaxed, switching back to his usual blankly graceful poise as the frigid atmosphere left as quick as it came.

The little lock-knob thing on the door flicked to the unlocked position, startling the gunman as Giorno called, “come along, they are bad at waiting.”

Mista was not a normally jumpy dude, but damn if all the ominous shit wasn't getting to his head. The Joestar manor didn't look any different both inside and out since he had last visited about a month ago. Following in after Giorno, who (as per usual) waltzed in without knocking, Mista noted that Jonathan still had his frankly ridiculous collection of stuff that he was growing more sure should be in a museum. The only difference was that there was a new box of shiny rocks in one of the many glass cabinet cases of rocks lining the foyer.

There were already a few Joestars at and around the table when they walked in. Jotaro was standing by his claimed chair and was discussing something in hushed tones with a thoughtful looking Speedwagon as a red haired man sat beside his and was busy talking to Joseph. A similarly aged blond guy- Caesar was sitting diagonal from Erina beside him and was showing off pictures from his mobile. Gappy and a pink haired girl that could only be Yasuho were sitting across from a blindingly pale girl and the local radio host Koichi Hirose.

Overall, it looked pretty normal.

He'd never seen the pale girl before though, “uh, who is that,” Mista pointed subtly as they both took two empty seats near the front of the extra long table.

Giorno leaned in, “Shizuka, Joseph's adopted daughter. She's not one for parties, but she's finally old enough to participate in the revelries.”

The what now- “Shizuka!”

Jolyne's voice came from the doorway, “you brought Koichi! How'd you manage that? Yukako has him on a leash-”


Shizuka giggled, “he was on babysitting duty anyway. Even though I'm fourteen and don't need one anymore,” turning to glare pointedly at Joseph at the other end of the table.

“What? Sorry my ears don't work very well anymore,” Joseph feigned as the red haired man rolled his eyes.

Jolyne laughed as she took the seat beside him, Hermes on her other side. There were exactly eight seats left, but Mista supposed the one on the very end was Jonathan's. Nothing seemed particularly threatening, or even out of place, and the way everyone was acting had him relaxing. Until Giorno slid his hand on top of his thigh.

“Shiii-zuuu-kaaa!,” Josuke’s voice came from the doorway next, “you're here!”

“I'm here!,” the girl replied with a giggle.

Josuke slid into the chair beside her, “just so you know, we aren't gonna go easy on you just because it's your first year, right Okuyasu?”

The police officer nodded fervently in agreement.

More questions were being raised without actually leading to any answers at this point and the suspense was killing him, “Giorno, what-”

“Oh, Johnny is here!”

“Hi Johnny, hey Gyro,” Jolyne waved from beside him.

“Hey everyone,” Johnny drawled as he wobbly maneuvered his way into a seat, “you all ready to see what new horrors await us this year?”

Erina had gotten up to move into the kitchen as the newcomers sat down. There were two seats still open next to Joseph and the one near the head of the table. He was still left with many questions.

As if sensing his confusion, Koichi flashed him a crooked smile, “I don't really know what's going on either.”

That didn't really make him feel better.

Erina hustled back into the room, a large covered serving bowl in her hands as Jonathan followed her in. His arms were full of various serving dishes and covers- it had to weigh a ton. He didn't show a single sign of strain. Archaeology must be one hell of a work out… either that or he was just naturally buff.

The image of a beefy Giorno flashed through his mind unbidden once more.

Behind the two came Tomoko and Holly carrying significantly less food, as well as serving utensils. The two flit around the table, placing food and serving spoons and tongs before sitting together in the last few seats. Speedwagon had disappeared and reappeared with an armload of pitchers- water, orange juice, tea, and soda, which he interspersed around the table before sitting by the head, across from Erina. The smells coming faintly through the lids and covers had Mista's mouth watering.

Jonathan remained standing and clapped his hands once for attention, coughing politely before he began, “hello and welcome everyone.”

“I'd like to thank you all for attending this special dinner, and I hope you are all as excited as I am for the most sacred Joestar tradition-”

“The fifty seventh annual Joestar family games!”

Everyone started clapping, so Mista joined in on autopilot.

When it died down, Jonathan continued, “for those of you who are new, these games have been a staple of the family for several generations! Although, we've never had so many competitors,” a chuckle.

“But enough about that, on to the truly exciting part! Speedwagon, if you will,” the man gestured towards the billionaire-philanthropist- and most eligible bachelor in the room.

The man stood, half-shouting with his strong cockney accent, “it's always an honor to be a part of the Joestar family and it's traditions, especially in choosing the games! This year, Mr. Joestar, Baron Zeppeli, and I have all worked to arrange something real grand! Please make time this Saturday, at eleven in the morning to meet at the Joestar lodge!”

Giorno raised a hand, “what's the attire?”

“Whatever you don't mind getting dirty! Oh, and maybe some layers? Just to provide some padding!”

Judging from the blond's face he definitely minded potentially getting dirty.

“Do we need to bring anything?,” Jolyne hummed, smacking Josuke’s hand away from where he was reaching to slip food from under a cover.

“Just your best performances! The prizes this year are fantastic!,” Speedwagon looked way too proud as he sat back down.

Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder, “very exciting. Now, let's dig in!”

Mista was still processing what all just happened as food was piled on his plate by Giorno and Jolyne. He supposed he had been entered into some kind of strange family contest? Whatever it was, it was pretty bizarre.

Not bizarre enough for it to stick in his head though, because as soon as Thursday rolled around and all the leftovers had been eaten he had forgotten all about it. It wasn't until Saturday morning that he remembered, after being woken up by Giorno. He couldn't find anything in his closets that he could bear getting dirty.

If the blond was concerned about the games it didn't show, he was still as apathetic as ever with his usual air of determination. Even while buying cheap clothing an hour and a half before the games were to begin he was completely unfazed. Mista had just picked up whatever clothing he had with bullet holes in them that weren't too obviously bullet holes, but the blond had picked out a frankly way too fashionable ensemble for cheap. Some kind of legging and tunic top sort of thing, all in soft browns and greens. It looked cold and Mista was glad that he remembered Speedwagon’s comment about padding when he insisted on pullovers.

The impromptu shopping trip did push them closer to the meeting time than they thought it would, but they luckily arrived a minute or two before whatever it was began. Giorno tucked his car between a vintage Cadillac with special ‘Jo*Jo’ plates and some kind of rundown jeep with way too much sand on the floor.

They were the last to arrive, everyone else seemingly crowding around a picnic table and collapsible whiteboard. The benches had been moved in a semi circle to provide optimum viewing of Speedwagon and his whiteboard, but they and the table were mostly filled with various lounging Joestars and their companions. The lodge itself was incredibly fancy looking and sat at the edge of a forest- making a rather picturesque scene. Although, despite being early November he was pretty sure he was going to come out of this covered in ticks.

Jonathan brightened when he saw their approach, “Giorno! You had me worried.”

“Sorry, Papa, I had to stop by the store,” the blond settled down next to him on the cramped bench, leaving a sliver for Mista.

The gunman raised an eyebrow but attempted to fit most of his ass on the bench with little success.

Speedwagon was practically vibrating with excitement, “now that you are all here, it's time to get into the details!”

“This year the first prize is an all expenses paid trip to the Morioh ski resort! You'll have a single, two bedroom cabin for yourself and your teammate and whoever and however many other people you can fit in the cabin! The second prize is six tickets to Aya Tsuji’s Cinderella spa and massage salon! The third place prizes are four tickets to the local amusement park! And all runners up will receive these gift baskets put together by Erina and I! They are quite lovely,” he mumbled shyly while showing one off.

After everyone was finished with their ‘ooo’s and ‘aw's, he continued, “which leads me to the announcement of the game! This year you will all be competing in a game of-”