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Mista’s list of all things kinky

Chapter Text

"That's a good boy." 

"Now, time for the rules." 

"Rule number one: remember your safe word. Can you tell me what it is baby?”




"Well done. Moving on nicely to rule two: do not touch or talk to me at all without the signal. You remember what the signal is, right?" 


"T-to kiss your boot three times?" 


"Exactly that baby. Good. Rule three: no touching yourself." 


"The next rule is to never, ever back talk me." 


"And rule number five is that you do as you're told. Understand.....? Alright. Good." 



Ever since Team Bucciarati came back from their mission escorting the old Bosses daughter across Italy, all surprisingly still in one piece, team Bucciarati-now known as 'team Mista' as it was Guido who had kept them out of danger better than anyone else,  had all taken a break from active missions. Bruno was okay with having the role of capo taken, as the new Passione boss, no one other than Giorno Giovanna have given every member of the former team Bucciarati the role of being the bosses lap dogs-his humble protector who could live their lives in lavish luxury as long as they promised to guard Giorno's life as if it were their own. Mista however, was classed capo of the appropriately named 'lapdog team' as he was often the young mans personal escort. 


The team basked in the glory of their success. Now, four years later Fugo slowly wormed his way back into the group, but wasn't assigned an official member of Team Mista, for Giorno had said a few times now that how was he "to trust a man who couldn't even give himself the name of a traitor for a man who saved his life and took him in, let alone a man he hardly knew, even if he was the leader of the mafia".  Narancia had gotten his education, and was now planning on using his days off tutoring those who also grew up without sufficient teaching. And finally Bruno and Abbacchio opened up about their secret relationship they had been in for quite some time now, and when they weren't with the rest of the team, they spent their time acting like spoilt brats, unable to keep their hands off of each other. "Seems like no one taught Bruno and Abbacchio to not play with their food before they ate it", Giorno had once said to Mista to make a joke, yet it had gone over his head at the time, he now seemed to get what the other man meant. 


In the long four years Giorno had been leading the passione as its leader, his and Mista's relationship had developed into something deeper. It started off innocently enough-they were good friends for three years. That was until Giorno was 18, and he didn't have to keep his urges towards Guido at bay. The man had always assumed Mista was straight, after all, the other man never ceased to talk about how he was unlucky with the ladies, or too busy commenting on how attractive the woman that walked past them was to listen to what their latest job was. But Guido's true feelings were weirdly enough a lot more fitting to his true nature: laid back and ready for change. Versatile. So when Giorno had admitted his feelings for Mista, he had agreed simply out of curiosity, but soon fell in love with his close friend, and everything about him. 


Both men had been dating for around six months when Giorno had began to notice some singular kind of tastes beginning to come out in his boyfriend. 


It all started after a long meeting GioGio had in Naples on a long summer day the month before in June. The sun had stared down at the city intensely that day, and rendered everyone weak and agitated by the heat. If the man didn't know any better, Giorno would have caught himself wondering if the weather was the work of a stand, as the tarmac outside had began to bubble, and keeping comfortable with clothes on almost seemed impossible. Needless to say the boss had found himself giddy with excitement to go home that day, and as the door to the men's hotel room swung open, the first thing Giorno did was remove his shoes and socks and fling them to the side of the bed, his suit soon following, only leaving him in his boxers. Whatever he touched he seemed to stick to due to the sweat, and only found solace when he reached for the switch to the air conditioning in their bedroom and turned it on. 


But Mista didn't seem to care about the heat at all, he hadn't once complained or whined, but only taken off his shirt once through the hotel door, probably in suit of his boyfriend. Strangely enough, Guido hadn't said anything in awhile, which left Giorno worried. He sat up on the bed, looking over at the other man. 

"Are you going to take off your hat? You're actually insane!" The boss unintentionally bawled at him, picking up the pillow next to him on the bed and hurling it at the other man. 


Mista easily dodged it, a small smirk pulling at his lips and he soon obeyed his master, quickly pulling his hat off, revealing his dark curly hair Giorno was always surprised to see. Why Mista wore his hat, Giorno was never sure, as he always looked better without it. He was always handsome, but his ear-length curly brown hair made GioGio's abdomen burn and his cheeks flush bright red. Yet his eyes were glued to Guido as he pulled off his belt. 


"Insane? I'm just not hot Babe." 

"It's 38° Mista!" 

The other man chuckled 

"If you wanna see me naked just say." He let out yet another cocky chuckle, which only made Giorno's anger grow. 


GioGio carried on. 

"Shut up. I'm sweaty and tired."

There was a long pause. 

"Sweaty indeed."


Giorno's head shot up off of the bed as he threw the remaining pillow that laid next to him out at Mista, it again being dodged, which only helped to anger him even more. The heat had exhausted him, and he wasn't in the mood to be called sweaty by his boyfriend.  

Mista let a hearty laugh erupt from his throat. 'What was there to laugh at?' Giorno thought, before realising something wasn't right about his partner. Mista was a Jack the lad, but a respectable one at that. The amount he was talking was suspicious, and the fact he hadn't cracked at least one semi-witty joke all day had the other man worried. But on second thought, he recognised this side of his boyfriend all too well. His eyes looked glazed over with lust, and his lips were never cracked for he kept licking him seductively, yet ever so subtly when he looked towards GioGio. His hand was perched on his hip and his dark eyes seemed to pierce through Giorno and stare into his soul instead. He wasn't acting strange, he was acting horny. 


Although Mista had never expressed any desire to be with a man before getting with his boss, it was a part of his character that he openly accepted after he realised it. Guido's one goal in life was to live a laid back one at that, and simply go where life took him. And life had taken him to-well-somewhere inherently gay. Giorno Giovanna. And Mista loved it-he revelled in it. All Guido Mista knew was that he loved Giorno, and if that made him gay, or bi at the very least, then he was only that. 


"I wasn't insulting you, babe~" Mista purred, looking towards the floor at his boyfriends clothes that he had discarded, then bending down to look through them. GioGio didn't say anything, but sat up and watched his boyfriend rifle through his clothes curiously, before he found the mans sweaty socks and let out a moan that if translated into words would've said something along the lines of ‘Aren’t I clever? I put in my thumb and pulled out a plum! What a good boy am I!’(1)


Mista inspected the sock for a moment, before shooting a glare over at his boyfriend and smirking. He laid the sweaty sock out in his palm and raised it to his face, pushing it against his nose before inhaling deeply. In what sounded like a relived kind of sigh Mista balled the sock in his hand and took an even deeper breath in through his nose, the mans eyebrows knitting together. Giorno only watched out of morbid curiosity, hardly sure what he was seeing was real. His boyfriend was sniffing his dirty socks? And by the sounds of things, enjoying it? 

Yet it wasn't a mystery for long as Guido kept the foul smelling piece of clothing close to his face while he moved his right hand down to his jeans, undoing his button. His hands snaked down to his zipper, soon after pulling his trousers down to his mid thigh. 


Before he carried on he looked over at his boyfriend, who sat utterly bemused. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Giorno said in a nonchalant tone, shaking his head at the same time. The man was expecting him to come back with some half-funny joke and then throw the sock down like nothing happened, yet this didn't happen. Mista looked over at his boyfriend and was soon crawling up the bed. He did this slowly, taking his time getting closer to Giorno, all the while sending him and intense glare that told him he was drunk with lust. 


Giorno didn't mind the idea of sex even if it was hot. Guido didn't seem like it, but was surprisingly nimble, and knew exactly how to pleasure someone during sex. Whether it was the sweet whispers of admiration or the perfect hip movement as he thrusted his cock into his boss, Giorno knew all too well about how they both drove him wild, and how if he could, he would happily stay in his lovers arms forever. But all this over a sock? 


Mista moved back a bit, stopping in his tracks. Before he could get any closer he looked up at this boyfriend, and then carefully glanced down at his body, as if taking in the view of painting in an art gallery. The man let out a complacent sigh and moved his head down towards Giorno's feet, before stopping. 

"If you don't like it, I promise I'll stop.." 

Giorno cocked his head in confusion. 

"Will you let me do this?" 

"Do what, Guido?" 

Giorno had a good idea what he was about to do. 

"You know what." 


It took a few seconds of consideration before the man nodded his head in agreement with a small "Mm" to let Mista know. It had all happened so fast. One second Giorno was bewildered at what his partner seemed to be doing, and the next minute it clicked. Guido Mista was turned on by feet, and more so sweaty ones. And the last time, Giorno wasn' was his heart thumping so hard like the steady beat of a drum? Or why had the blood rushed to his face making him blush, and somewhere else for that matter as his boxers began to get tighter as each moment passed. 


Mista's lips gazed across the top of Giorno's foot before he closed his eyes, as if concentrating on the feeling. Like he was taking in the memory of it before it had even passed. The sensation made Giorno squirm at the ticklish feeling, but nevertheless he carried on watching out of sheer curiosity. Guido looked back up at his boyfriend, maintaining eye contact as he gave a small peck to his boyfriends ankle, gently holding onto his shin. 

"You know, Babe..." Mista started, lifting GioGio's foot as he nuzzled his cheek into the Boy's heel. 


"When you spend your life playing with guns as if they're toys, it's harder to get your blood pumping Y'know." 

Giorno looked at him with a confused glare. 

"You need something more. Not just vanilla." He mumbled into the arch of GioGio's foot before kissing it hungrily. 

The other man responded. 

"So what-you're like kinky or something?" He asked, raising his arms as if to say 'well why didn't you tell me? It's not an issue', but then folded his arms out of anger that began to arise. 

"Is that why you've ignored all of my advances for the last month??" Giorno questioned, pulling his foot away. Mista gave a small sigh. 


"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable babe.." Mista cooed, looking up at his lover with apologetic eyes. Giorno could tell he was being serious, and found it pointless to carry on being angry at him over something as simple as his sexual desires. 

"It's okay, Guido. I forgive you" the man said with a small smile, scooting over to the end of the bed and planting a gentle kiss on Mista's head. 


When Giorno thought of typically 'kinky' things, not much came to mind, but only a few select acts such as being gagged, being tied up and blindfolded. GioGio was satisfied with vanilla sex, but felt a small twinge of disappointment in his heart after the thought of his boyfriend not enjoying the times they made love as much as him. But the more the boss pondered, the more he realised the signs Mista had already put in place for him. Ones he hadn't realised until now. 

When Mista was close to cumming, and his thrusts got deeper and harder, his cock pounding into Giorno, sometimes his hands would wonder up to his boyfriends wrists, and work to pin him down. Or Mista would momentarily hold his hand over Giorno's mouth when they talking early in the morning after they had woken up snuggled next to each other, and soon apologise for it was a thing he did "on impulse" as he had phrased it. 

So when Giorno thought of those few select acts, he didn't think it would be anymore then that. Surely what could be more kinky? Mista wasn't a complicated person, the last thing he'd have is complicated desires, right?


"Can i carry on?" Guido asked, dragging Giorno out of his thoughts and back to reality, where he looked down and remembered just what was happening. If his boyfriend was into 'kinky' foreplay, it made him curious, and he wanted to know just what made Guido Mista get off better then he did himself. 'Now this wasn't useless' Giorno had thought. Even as the submissive in their relationship, the boss always yearned for some kind of power over Mista, even though you'd think he had enough, being the boss of the Italian mafia. He wanted to have one up on him, something he could tease his boyfriend about, something he could use against him (not that he ever would), something that might keep him quiet when Mista went too far with teasing Giorno. He wanted to tease him and pleasure him, and considering letting Mista have his way just this once would enable him to do both, he offered his foot out again. 


"Go ahead babe~"


Mista carried on, taking Giorno's right food in his hand gently and nuzzling his cheek into it, before turning his head to kiss the top, near his boyfriend's ankle which made him squirm slightly. Mista simply shook his head as if to say no, and trailed kisses down the length of Giorno's foot before reaching his toes. Guido lifted his boyfriends foot so the bottom of it was staring him in the face before he took his index finger and ran it up the curves of the other mans arch, stopping at his heel and gently drawing a circle on it with his fingertip. After repeating the action three times or so, Giorno using all of his concentration to not squirm, the man suddenly felt something hot hit his heel.


This sensation was different-it wasn't ticklish or uncomfortable, but made GioGio squirm in a completely different way. He couldn’t kick out his feet out in hysterics, As Mista had kept a tight grip on his ankle so he didn't get hit in the face. Yet Giorno hardly wanted to, as he didn’t feel ticklish anymore, only a kind of hunger as his hips began to roll and his legs squeezed together out of desperation. Giorno didn't know what was so different about this feeling, but the feeling of Mista licking his feet sent shivers quite literally from his tips of his toes, all the way up to his spine which only made him want to fold his legs over more to make up for the lack of fiction he so desperately needed.

Guido went in lines, licking from the tips of his boyfriends toes all the way down to his heel, until he stoped all together and retracted his tongue, sucking on the wet skin with his eyes shut, concentrating on the feeling of worshiping his partner completely. 


Mista liked to be worshipped, but also to worship. When he loved, he loved hard, and always wanted the other man to know he was his. The very feeling of kissing and licking his boyfriends sweaty feet made his cock twitch as it began to harden. The man quickly lifted Giorno's sweaty sock in his other hand and held it against his nose as he inhaled deeply. The mans trousers had already been pulled down, so it didn't take much manoeuvring with his hand that he moved from GioGio's ankle to his boxers and pulled them down in a hurry


Giorno kept his foot close to Mista's face while his boyfriend fiddled around with his boxers, and pulled them down to thighs. Guido looked up at his lover and gave off a small smirk but then shook his head as if he’d snapped out of some kind of spell. Like the spell of lust. As if when he pulled down his boxers her suddenly realised what he was doing, and what he was subjected his boyfriend to. Mista seemed to be enjoying it, so why did his face look so overcome in the moment with guilt?


"What is it Gudio..?"  Giorno asked, an unsure tone in his voice. His boyfriend had seemingly stopped what he was doing. He wasn't holding GioGio's ankle anymore as he rested his hand on the bed, and his sexual advances ceased as he pulled up his boxers and trousers, buckling up his belt. Giorno didn't understand. He cocked his head and pulled his foot away from Mista, letting out a confused scoff. Mista had gone from being completely consumed by lust to standing up like nothing had happened and buckled his belt, reaching for his bag that was placed beside the bed. No words where shared between the two men for a few moments, like all sound had been pulled from the earth except for Giorno's ragged breathing. 








Giorno's patience had worn thin. The heat had rendered him impatient, causing him to snap at his boyfriend, who stood at the end of the bed, looking through his bag. Confusion had swallowed Giorno, the man wasn't sure what had just happened, or if the heat had made him imagine it due to dehydration or something of the sorts. Mista had gotten naked for a moment amidst a wave of lust, then curbed his craving for his boyfriend and respectfully pulled himself together. Giorno appreciated that Guido had done so in case he had made him uncomfortable with his strange tastes he had never shown before, but the man was never one to leave a job half done. There had to be more. 


"Giorno-" Mista started, looking down. A defeated tone on his lips. 

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that's the last thing I'd want." 

He scratched the back of his neck and scuffed his heel against the floor, looking away from Giorno out of embarrassment. 


GioGio could tell when his boyfriend was being sincere, and this was far from a joke. Mista had suddenly done something brash and sexual with his boyfriend that was new to sex, and had pulled himself away from going any further incase he had made him uncomfortable. Giorno was glad that his boyfriend was so considerate, and reached his hand out towards Mista and gestured for him to come over. The man would never admit it, but he had felt a small pang of disappointment swell deep inside him, for Mista's touch, even if it was to his feet, it had weirdly excited him. He liked it. And strangely wanted more. Yet Giorno knew it wasn't the time for that, and had to show some kind of comfort to his boyfriend. 


"Guido...” Giorno said endearingly before stopping himself, waiting for the man to look over. And when he did, he continued.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable. I just wanted to know if this is why you haven't really touched" The man balled the bedsheets beneath him in his hands out of shame. 

"We haven't done it many times always seemed so vulgar beforehand...I thought you'd already gone off of me..." 


Giorno felt shamed, as he was the one who was meant to be doing the comforting, but realised Guido was instead comforting him when he walked over slowly and knelt down next to him beside the bed, taking GioGio's cheeks into his hands and holding his face lovingly. 

"Oh baby...I'm sorry if I made you insecure-I was just worried is all", Guido responded with a gentle tone to his voice. One that could comfort Giorno no matter how he felt. Could warm him when he was cold and cool him down when he was hot. It was all he needed. Mista had to be honest to avoid causing anymore damage to their genuine relationship. 


"I only avoided you because-" 

At least he finally admitted it.

He looked away. 

"Because I'm not into vanilla sex like you. Of course having sex with you felt good-like I could get-uh-like hard obviously-and I came-and your moans were really cute!-like-but I need more-but you do satisfy me-!" Giorno put his hand to Guidos mouth before he ran out of breath to let him catch his thoughts, and moved his hand when his boyfriend seemed ready to try again. 


"I like...just some things others may classify as off. I want to try them with you, but I love you and don't want to make you uncomfortable." 


Giorno finally understood. Mista was hurting over something so trivial that he could help him with. The man almost wanted to laugh, yet he appreciated that his partner was upset and swallowed the chuckle that tried to escape from his throat. After saying something as bold as that, all Giorno could be was curious, especially as he was uneducated in the area of kinky sex. He had a plan. 


"Write me a list." 

Mista looked up at his boyfriend and cocked his head. 


"You heard me. Write me a list of some of the things you like. And we can try them. I want to know." 

Guido stuttered, unsure of how to reply. 

"I-I could, but how limited d-do I need to be?" 

Giorno tapped his index finger to his chin before a grin pulled at his lips. He wanted to understand his boyfriend more, and didn't want to limit his own understanding on his boyfriends needs to just twenty things, yet he had to start somewhere, right? 


"Twenty. I want you to write a list of  twenty things you want to try with me. Deal?" 


Which brought them to now.

Chapter Text

It had begun. And at a seemingly slow pace at that. It had been over two months since Giorno suggested Mista write him a list of his wishes, but he was yet to see one, now well into September, the man began to wonder if Mista had some kind of memory loss. That night had ended like any other; Mista crawling into bed next to him despite the almost unbearable heat, and in typical Gudio style, passing out before Giorno had the chance to wish him a Goodnight. The next morning everything carried on as normal-as if the man hadn't said anything at all, as Gudio never brought it up when they were getting dressed, or when they clocked out of the hotel, or even when they got back to their own home that night. Giorno had caught himself anticipating every moment they had alone together like a fool, as if he were a young boy again standing in front of his crush. Both men spent most of their time in his office, Mista protecting him as he signed wavers or planned out the logistics of their next move as the mafia. Yet it seemed with each passing day it got harder to be alone with Guido, as his heart thumped in his chest and made him dizzy, his legs trembled beneath him and his hands shook at even the smallest of interactions. Giorno knew what it felt like to have a crush, after all, he had crushed on his own boyfriend for three years before he was 18, but never remembered feeling as faint as this. He hated to admit it, but felt threatened by the power Mista's presence alone had on him, as the man found it hard to concentrate on the work in front of him. 


It was early morning: a Monday. A day Giorno found utterly useless. And ever since he was young, that was exactly what he had hated, as the lack of things to do almost killed him. The boredom strangled him as he sat at his desk, tapping his pen against his notebook silently, waiting-willing for something to happen. Mista stood just outside his office door with his gun stuffed down his trousers, the handle pointing towards his hand in case he had to use it. If he had to die, he didn't want it to be of boredom. But  calling his boyfriend in could jeopardise the whole of Team Mista's safety, as Bruno, Abbacchio and Narancia stood guard at different areas of the house, ready fight any imposing intruders. Usually it was peaceful. There weren't many who were brave enough to fight the head of the Passione, and hardly anyone who was smart enough to find out where Giorno lived. But when there were threats, the team were quick to act. Giorno didn't have to worry about safety. And he had the others to thank for that. 


Giorno was bored but thankful. Thankful that he never had to worry about any threats from those who wanted to kill him. Yet he used the word 'kill' loosely as there was a secret he kept from everyone, including his boyfriend, Mista. He didn't know what he had to lose, so he took no chances in discussing it with anyone. The only two people who could know were his mother and father, and as far as he was concerned his father was dead, and, well he wished death on his mother most of the time anyway. 

In short, Giorno had gained something else other than blonde hair from his father. Something entirely different. Something he wasn't sure if it was a blessing in disguise or a just a curse altogether. Now Giorno wasn't exactly saying he was vampire, but he wasn't exactly a human either. A half-blood to be blunt. His father had given him the gift of fangs he could retract and present at any given time, and the need to drink blood to feel satisfied. He had unnaturally good senses, was typically classed as attractive and exerted some kind of unnatural strength. Yet what his father had done was unknowingly lumped him with more weaknesses than strengths, like the unbearable feeling of sun on his skin, being unable to enter an abode without an invitation, having to give up any chance of silver jewellery has it brought him out in hives and left burns on his skin. And of course, the need to drink blood. Yet Giorno wasn't immortal as far as he was concerned, so he was thankful he had those who guarded his life as if it were their own, and as he thought about it, he felt a small twinge of guilt boil deep within him, as he wanted nothing more then to tell Mista of his special needs, just as he had done a few months ago.


He fingered the key in his suit pocket and grabbed it, taking it out and unlocking the drawer to his right all in one motion, being careful in case anyone heard. Mista was forgetful, and never remembered to knock, so if he at anytime decided to come in to talk, he would be caught, and most definitely questioned. He pulled open the drawer and gazed at what was inside like a goldmine. His blood stash. 


The supplier was sworn to secrecy, and each time they had successfully gotten Giorno what he desired was often killed if they seemed suspicious. He had to be strict. Of course Giorno didn't want to kill innocent people, but he couldn't go himself, as he couldn't walk into any known building without permission, and, well breaking-and entering definitely wasnt that. Again, another reason why Giorno wasn't sure if he could thank his father for the vampiric genes he'd passed down to him. Some dad huh. 


His blood supply was getting dangerously low as he only had two pints left in a singular pouch stuffed at the back of the drawer. Giorno pulled it out and reluctantly took his metal straw from the drawer above and stabbed it in the top like a Capri sun and began to gulp down the refreshing drink. He knew if he got greedy and drank it know, someone's life would end sooner when he sent for them to get more for him, all for a silly lie. Selfish really. 


As the blood hit the back of his throat he couldn't help but suck harder on the straw, as the thick liquid pooled on his tongue like a smoothie and simultaneously quenched his insufferable thirst for a moment, and made him hunger for more like a rabid beast. Giorno gripped the table with his hand out of pleasure and moaned in delight as he gulped down the first mouthful, full of ecstasy. If the man was asked to describe the taste, he would hardly be able to, as the sensation was like nothing he had ever experienced. Something like opening the finest bottle of wine in the whole of Italy, or like experiencing the ripples of pleasure as they rip through your body during passionate love making. Like being thrown a blanket on a cold day, or given a ice lolly to suck on during a heatwave. There was something just so pitifully orgasmic about the taste of blood that made Giorno hungry for more. It had been too long since he'd had his fill. He needed more. 


For a moment, as the man let the blood hit his tastebuds he could hear the faint whispers of the person who it belonged to dance past his ears, telling him the secret of his life and to enjoy his life essence while it lasted. The thought consumed him as he shut his eyes, his eyebrows knitting together as he became more and more greedy. Each gulp left him thirsty as his fangs grew in sharpness and size at the taste, and pierced through his lips slightly, causing them to bleed as he let out a small whine. 


Giorno never wanted this moment to end. Whenever the man got a taste of blood it drove him wild, and any worries he had moments ago seemed to vanish-just like Mista's list, or the fear of his boyfriend walking in and discovering his dark secret. The man was so consumed with the irresistible taste of blood after starving himself of what he needed for so long now, he hardly heard the click of the door as the handle was pulled down and the door was pushed open, allowing Mista to see inside. And what he saw stopped his dead in his tracks.


Giorno Giovnna overcome with bloodlust, squeezing the life out of his pouch of blood, as if it were something he'd never tasted before, and he would surely die without it. Like he'd just been offered a glass of water during a heat wave, or handed his favourite meal after fasting for a week-looking as if it wasn't something he wanted, but needed, obviously in this case that being true. Mista caught sight of 

Giorno's fangs piercing through his lips as he dank, and his fingernails grown into sharp claws along with his bloodlust. The man thought maybe he had seen wrong, but when his boyfriend dropped the sack he had been drinking out of, letting it flop onto the desk, his suspicions had been satisfied.


At first Mista thought of saying nothing at all, but then drew in a breath as if he were going to talk. Nevertheless he failed to say anything, simply looking at Giorno with a more concerned look rather than a confused one as he looked away and then back at his boyfriend, trying to confirm if what he was seeing was true or not.

When it came to Mista, Giorno was terrible at lying, and had only been able to keep his vampiric tendencies secret as he hadn't been asked. A 'I didn't lie, I just didn't tell you' kind of situation. So when he felt like it was appropriate to talk, all GioGio managed to muster was a pathetic 

"It's not what it looks like..." as he licked some of the remaining blood from his lips sheepishly. 


"What the fuck is it meant to look like?" Mista almost stated instead of asking, as he was bewildered at what the fuck he was meant to be looking at, slowly shutting the door behind him, then folding his arms. 

Giorno swallowed the rest of the blood that lingered in his throat as he gulped and looked away from his boyfriend, as if he was a child about to be scolded and slapped on the wrist by his parent. The trouble was, GioGio wanted to tell Mista the truth, but he just couldn't find the words. Like they were stuck in his throat-unable to get out. How do you explain to your boyfriend of eight months and friend of four years that you're a vampire? 


"Was that blood?" 

Giorno said nothing. 

"Giorno, was that blood?", Mista repeated in a more stern tone of voice. 

"Giorno, were you drinking blood-I just want to know."


The man-or vampire didn't didn't look up at Mista, but feebly nodded in response, balling his suit trousers in his fists. If there was any time he was going to be rejected, it was now. 


But Mista had no qualms, or maybe just little understanding on what it equated to, as he simply shrugged his shoulders and slapped his hands against his sides, completely disregarding the situation. It wasn't the reaction Giorno was expecting, but him having no reaction was definitely better than him freaking out and branding his own lover as a freak. But when GioGio actually rationally thought about it, Guido was always too laid back for his own good, and hated using his brain-or what remained of it too hard. So if his boyfriend chose to drank blood, Mista would chose not to ask questions or care why. Giorno sometimes wished he could think more like that. 


"So you drink blood, babe? I don't understand." He shook his head. 

"I don't see why that's such an issue..." 


Giorno looked up at his boyfriend and let his mouth hang open, revealing his fangs that sat confidently in his mouth and hung to his bottom lip, still coated lightly in his own blood after making himself bleed. This definitely wasn't normal, so he wasn't sure why Mista had the nerve to be completely unfazed. Surely he had to care a little? It wasn't just that he drank blood, he needed it. 


"I need to." Giorno replied, trying to spell it out for his boyfriend. 

Mista scoffed. 

"You sound like a vampire of something." 

"I am." 


Mista looked around for a moment in thought but soon carried on. 

"Like for how long?" 

"Well technically since I was born." 

Everything was silent for what seemed like years as both men stared at each other, both relatively calm-looking except for the fact Giorno was screaming on the inside with worry. Mista was laid back, but he wasn't dumb, and probably saw it as a joke to gloss over the fact Giorno was drinking blood. But then again, why would you? The mans heart thumped in his chest and made him feel dizzy as his throat dried and his hands got clammy with sweat. The more he anticipated what Mista would think of him, the more he worried that it would jeopardise their relationship. 

"Oh okay, fair enough." Mista replied in a nonchalant way, shrugging his shoulders and giving a small reassuring smile as if Giorno had just told him that his name was in fact Giorno Giovanna and that the day was in fact Monday. Something as big as Giorno being a whole other species to the other man had been treated as something so trivial, that for once GioGio was taken back, and honestly lost for words. But Mista raised a valid point. 


"Babe. Is you being a vampire any less believable than all of our friends and us having magical people with special powers that fight for us?" 


Giorno actually had nothing to say back in response. As for once Guido Mista had made more sense than him. Yet it made sense. Why would Mista question the existence of vampires, but not stands? What was so unbelievable about creates that feed on blood and hate sunlight when compared to stands? Manifestations of your fighting spirit taking the form of a creature able to use special abilities unique to the person. Giorno felt like a fool. And for what? 


"You looked pretty desperate..." Mista uttered, scratching his side before walking over and picking up the pouch blood to inspect it further. 

"Ha. You drank it just like a Capri sun!" He exclaimed with an excited flair to his voice. The man looked down and smirked at at Giorno who still seemed confused by the whole situation, and cupped his cheeks before kissing his forehead endearingly. 

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

Giorno truly was comforted by Mista's words, even if he was only making fun of his drinking habits. He was never one to chide or judge, but accepted his boyfriend for who he was, and loved him anyway, even if Giorno was a vampire. He loved him and he was proud. 


Mista stood next to him by his desk and stared down at him. Giorno was panting slightly, obviously not satisfied with the portion of blood he had left. Guido picked it up again and squeezed it curiously, and watched some of the remaining blood seep out from where the straw had punched a hole in the top and pool in the creases of his hands. What Mista found interesting, Giorno found cruel as he watched the rest of his food go to waste. 


Disregarding any kind of dignity he had left after the embarrassing display of him feeding, Giorno let out an involuntary whine of desperation at the sight of blood. He scrambled over to Mista, trying to get as close as possible, before he raised his hands to cup Mista's and watched in despair as his precious blood dripped down onto the table. Guido scoffed as he watched Giorno's fangs extend and his claws grow in anticipation. He opened his mouth and lapped the blood off of Mista's closed fist desperately, savouring the taste as it hit his tastebuds. The man took his boyfriends fist and opened it slowly , letting the now empty pouch hit the desk as he began run the base of his tongue up the length of Mista's palm until it was clean. Giorno took his boyfriends fingers into his mouth and began to suck gently on them, shutting his eyes so he could focus on the last taste of blood. If Giorno had his eyes open, he could've seen the smirk pull at Mista's lips as he ran his other hand through his silky blonde hair. 

"Good boy." Mista cooed, 

"That's such a good boy~" 


Mista's soothing words made Giorno's cheeks feel as if they were burning as they flushed bright red from both the embarrassment and arousal. He had never gone down on anyone before, not even Mista, yet he held the base of the other mans middle and index fingers with his own and bobbed gently on them, attempting to suck on them as if they were Mista's dick. Giorno looked up at his boyfriend who shook his head in amazement, as he was never the desperate kind, or type to whore himself out like he was now. Guido was glad he could finally see his partner give into his primal instincts, and pulled his fingers from the other mans mouth and wiped them on his shirt. 


"Fucking pathetic~ I love it."  


Giorno had never heard his boyfriend speak to to him like this before. His tone was assertive and cocky, unlike his usual laid back voice, and his touch was rough instead of gentle and endearing. Like it was a completely different man all together. Of course he enjoyed being comforted, but this was a whole new other kind of excitement. One he had never felt before. Giorno whined at the feeling of Guido's fingers sliding out of his mouth as he savoured the taste of blood that still lingered on them. The man reached his hand out as he watched Mista pull up his crop top and take it off. No words were shared between the two men for a few moments, and only the sound of Guido's top rustling, and then hitting the floor was heard. 


"You seem pretty desperate babe" Mista said with a grin pulling at his lips as his fingertips danced across his chest. They made their way from the gentle dips of his collar bones to his sides, as he ran his index fingers down the pronounced curves of his hips, then following his subtle v-line. He stopped at the hem of his jeans and chuckled, resting his hand on his abdomen. Giorno said nothing still, but watched in awe, hardly caring that he had begun to salivate, whether or not it was because he got to marvel at Mista's beautiful olive skin that almost seemed to glow in the sunlight that pierced through the window, or because the veins that popped out from his hands and biceps the man wasn't sure. 


"So how about it?" He rubbed his neck with his palm and then raised his hands outwards as if asking for a hug.

"Fresh blood, baby~". 


That was it. The straw that broke the camels back. The point of no return. Giorno stared at his partners neck longingly, and as if my magic, it seemed to stare right back at him-enticing him-begging him to sink into fangs into the subtle dip of Mista's neck, and feel his teeth rip through the tissue and fat-to pierce the jugular vein-finally-finally getting a taste of fresh blood! It didn't take much to convince the man to do so, just a few seconds of Mista looking back at him with a trusting smile before he pounced on him like a rabid animal as his stood up and latched himself onto Guido's neck, his arms holding him in place. Mista stumbled back slightly, but Giorno made sure he didn't fall as he held him against the desk, his knee pushing up in between Mista's thighs. 


Giorno's fangs pierced the skin on his boyfriends neck, and the man winced at the sudden sharp pain that followed, but nevertheless let him carry on. Just as GioGio had imagined, he ripped past through the soft, juicy tissue in Mista's neck, and began to suck, slowly, feeling the sensation of a thick, pulsating vein tear as warm blood made its way up his fangs. 

What he felt was indescribable-nothing he had ever felt before. Like his whole body had been consumed by desire. Giorno was sure that if you gave him the gift of eternal life and left him alone for a lifetime and then got back to him, he was sure he still wouldn't of found a way to explain how the taste of fresh blood differed from cold, refrigerated blood that was definitely far from new. It didn't have a distinct taste, but an overwhelming feeling that swallowed any kind of rational thought, and let you completely let go. Give in. Give in to those instinctual thoughts. Eat him alive. 


Mista seemed to be half moaning in delight and half whimpering in pain as he felt himself growing more and more faint by the second as his blood was drained, yet the feeling was oddly addictive. As much as his body was growing tired, he couldn't get enough of it, and wished that it would last forever. Giorno had told him one of his secrets, so Mista felt obliged to tell him one of his own. That for the past two months since Giorno told him to 'make a list of twenty kinks for him', he'd left the man alone to find them out himself, and watched him get frustrated as if he were scavenging on an Easter egg hunt. But to Mista's surprise, had finally found one. And it wasn't just something Mista wanted to try and Giorno would follow along unsure...he needed it. Quite literally to live. Blood drinking to live. Blood drinking to get off. They're all the same, right?


Giorno couldn't get enough of the sensation of his boyfriend's delicious blood fill his mouth. He let it linger for a moment, savouring the feeling of his mouth being filled with the liquid, and then gulping it down as if it were a thick-shake. The man wasn't sure how much he had drunk, but it definitely felt like pints. This obviously not being the case as Mista still stood tall, leant against the desk with his eyes shut tight and his eyebrows knitted together. Giorno could feel his boyfriend's hard-on pressing against his leg, and rolled his hips onto it gently, causing a small gasp to escape from his lips as the sudden friction surprised him. 


The amount of blood trailing down Giorno's throat slowly decreased, as he shut his eyes for a moment to savour the flavour. He was glad. A little too happy to be Frank. The man finally had someone to drink from, and it was the man he loved-and in some poetic sense made the blood taste even better. It left a sweet taste on the roof of his mouth, but a tangy metallic taste on his lips. If he asked nicely, Giorno knew he could feed from his boyfriend regularly, and felt his cheeks flush at the thought of Mista putting him on his hands and knees. 

"Beg for me baby. Beg like the little vampire whore you are", he could almost hear Guido say. 


His fangs retracted, and he rested his chin on Mista's shoulder for a minute, watching the entry wounds seep with blood. Giorno gave a gentle whine at the sight, and endearingly licked bite marks clean as if he were a dog. Guido panted and rested his hands against the desk, waiting for his energy to come back to him. He turned his head and smiled feebly at Giorno, giving him a small kiss on the forehead before speaking. 

"Feel better now?" He asked, pushing a strand of hair out of his partners face before tucking it behind his ear. 

Giorno gave a small nod to agree, and also to say thank you. 


"If you're feeling better, then it's my turn." 


Giorno moved his chin from Mista's shoulder and looked at him. 



Nothing but a chuckle erupted from his throat. 


"My list. It starts today. It's my turn now."

Chapter Text

"My list. It starts today. It's my turn now."


Giorno wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but hardly needed to when Mista shoved him away with his hand. He was taken back, and let out a small gasp as he fell back into his chair and looked up at Guido. Mista wasn't about to admit he was a vampire too, right? 

No, Giorno could taste it in his blood as it still lingered in the back of his throat. He had never tasted something like beautiful as that, and after attempting to drink his own blood, realised that another vampire's blood would taste like a sickly poison. That was pleasure. 


Mista looked down at him and pulled Giorno's chair out so both men were facing each other. The man wrapped his hands around the armrests so Giorno had no way of getting up, and shot him a grin-the kind of shit eating grin that you might want to smack off of someone's face if they weren't careful. A smirk  that screamed ‘don’t you even try, you silly, silly little boy.’

 But Giorno did nothing, and sat helplessly, staring up at him, confused and nervous as to what he was thinking. As he stared into Mista's eyes he realised the deep, intimidating colour of them, if there was one, as it almost seemed that nothing stared back, only a dominating flare. So mysterious yet so intoxicating. Why is it that Giorno hungered so much for something he failed to understand? L'appel du vide. 


"What're you gonna do to me?" Giorno asked, wriggling around in his chair from the nerves. Mista's eyes thinned and his smirk faded into a stern look that had been smacked across his face. 

"Don't act coy." 

He carried on. 

"Rope. Where is it?" 

Giorno cocked his head and looked towards his lover with a confused glare. 

"Come on." He scoffed, "we torture people, that's our job-" 

"That's your job, Mista." The man spat out at Guido, getting too close for his face for his own good. Giorno wasn't sure if Mista was being cocky, serious, sarcastic, flirtatious or all of the above, but all he knew was that Mista's voice left a burning sensation in his abdomen that only made him want to talk back more. Yet the man was silenced when Guido cleared his throat and spat directly in his face, obviously directed at his mouth. Giorno flinched, and gasped at the sudden sensation of such a degrading act, and began to wonder if this was what Mista meant when he said he was kinky...this not being the case in the slightest. Guido wiped it from his face and onto his jumper. 

"Don't fucking talk back to me." Mista said, leaning close to his boyfriends face, their foreheads almost touching and the mans steady breaths through his nose hitting Giorno's lips. Whenever they spent time in the bedroom having sex before, Mista hardly spoke, mainly because whatever left his mouth was usually some kind of half-funny joke that put Giorno out of the mood. But this was different. He didn't sound like he was trying to comfort Giorno, more so that he was trying to control him, or have his way with him. He was fighting for the dominance in the relationship, and was at this point winning. 


"Tell me where the rope is or you'll fucking eat lead.", Mista spat out in a domineering tone, one that insinuated that he was being serious as he wrapped his hand around the handle of his gun and summoned his stand. Giorno wanted to think he was joking, but his boyfriend was always the first to volunteer torture, or come up with the idea, and was quite handy with whatever he had at hand to make sure it was as painful as possible. The man didn't want to be hurt, but was too curious to turn down the offer. 

"Are you deaf!?" 

Giorno disagreed by shaking his head, gesturing over to the cupboard standing against the wall on the opposite side of the room. His boyfriend smiled, satisfied with his answer, and gave a more than harsh pat to his cheek, saying, "that's a good boy. I know your brain worked at least a little~", unaware of how out of character he sounded. Giorno scoffed under his breath. If anything, Mista was the less intelligent one, and had some nerve being so abrasive. But he supposed Mista's list started with this. His cocky, arrogant side. Giorno hardly understood how this was a turn on-but why, why did he want his boyfriend to carry on so much? 


Guido traipsed over to the cupboard his boyfriend had pointed at, keeping his eye on Giorno's movements, or lack of. He looked strangely feral in a way, but whether that was because his eyes reflected nothing but his wild nature or the fact his dick was hard beneath his jeans while he did it, Giorno wasn't sure. Mista went as far as taking the revolver from his trousers and pointing it towards his partner, cocking the hammer of his gun and keeping his index finger firmly on the trigger. Giorno was perplexed. Perplexed why his heart was racing, perplexed why his mouth moved on his own and shouted out, 


The cupboard door opened and the ruby red rope was revealed in all of its glory, hanging off a golden hanger like a lump of meat stabbed into a hook in a butchers. Mista went to reach for it, but stopped himself in his tracks, looking over at boyfriend. He folded his arms and let out a disappointed sigh to himself. Yet the sigh to no one other then himself as he muttered, "I haven't even asked yet like a daft cunt." 

The remark was unfitting to say the least as it made Giorno chuckle, and almost forget he had been tied to his own chair like a hopeless piece of meat, but was shot a glare from Guido, one that held his mouth shut. Yet his boyfriends tone was forgiving and gentle as he asked, 

"Do you want this? before I keep going?"


Giorno had thought he had made his consent pretty clear by the fact he hadn't summoned his stand or already beaten the shit out him, but nodded in response for Mista's own piece of mind. Sure, he was hardly acquainted with this side of his boyfriend, but trusted him nonetheless, as he usually did with his life. If he could do that, he could trust Guido with anything. 

"Yes-yes I want this, Guido," Giorno nodded in an affirming but low voice, a voice that was dying of anticipation. 


Yet the confirmation wasn't enough for Mista as he carried on, making sure his boyfriend was completely comfortable with their play. 

"We should have a safe-word." 

The phrase 'safe word' was foreign to Giorno, but had a rough idea on what it mean judging by the context of the situation, that being it was something to do withdrawing consent, or giving it. The man shrugged his shoulders, asking Mista to explain. And he did, in his usual straightforward tone of voice, explaining, 

"a safe-word is used to withdrawal consent at any time during sex". He nodded, satisfied with his own answer. 

"If you feel uncomfortable, say it and I'll stop." 


The concept seemed simple enough, and Giorno nodded, letting Mista know he agreed and put his mind to use and tried to think of a word. It would make sense if it was short and simple, something that he liked and gave him comfort in the case that Mista's advances had made him uncomfortable enough for him to ask his boyfriend to stop. Giorno thought for a few moments and tapped his finger against his chin before raising his eyebrows, satisfied with what he had thought of, and looked over at his boyfriend. 


Mista looked beautiful in the sunlight that peaked through the curtains, like long slivers of gold were bouncing off of the office walls. His naturally olive skin lapped up the sun, and illuminated a kind of heavenly glow that gave the room a kind of warm atmosphere. One that almost made Giorno forget he was about to be devoured by the very man he admired. Anyone would be stupid to deny Mista the title of a man; his hips dipped inwards perhaps more than they should, but slivered down into a subtle v-line that lead straight down to hem on his jeans. As his trousers started, whispy black hairs peaked out from over his belt and trailed up to his bellybutton, and his gentle yet strong arms were lined with jet black hair. Trish wasn't lying when she had said Mista was hairy and didn't smell the best, but his body hair and natural musk gave Gudio this atmosphere, one that screamed he was there to dominate and protect. He was a man, and he wasn't afraid to love Giorno so. 

"Ladybug. The safe-word is ladybug." 



The rope was red. A deep red like the colour of fresh blood, like the blood that had washed away Giorno's hunger and given back some guilt in return. The colour of lust...anger...passion...! The rope was tied in four clove hitches around the strong legs of Giorno's office chair, and wrapped around its arms, holding the mans wrists down firmly. For the most part, Giorno was naked; flesh meeting rope. The mans pale complexion contrasting against the sensual colour of the rope, like how noticeable a spot of fresh blood would be against a blanket of virgin snow. Mista had tied Giorno to the chair in such an unforgiving way; a way that cracked the mans back and left dry, bruised splotches of skin against his wrist and ankles. He wasn't Mista's boyfriend anymore, only his hostage, stripped down to his boxers. 


His chest was restricted and his lungs felt tight with each breath. He couldn't twist his wrists around so they were facing down and his ankles wouldn't budge. For once the man understood why those being tortured looked back at him with such an intense flare in their eyes, as he felt as if he had been stripped of all power, and took him back to time where he felt absolutely powerless like a child. All Giorno had been instructed to do was remember a single word: 'Ladybug', and entrust his entire being to the man who held a cocked gun to his head, his index finger hovering over the trigger. 


"You know when I was younger, I read Dracula in school." The voice whispered from behind him in a low voice. 

“The blood is the life!” The voice carried on, a hand suddenly resting on his shoulder. Yet the room was dark after the curtains had been drawn and the lights flicked off. And although Giorno knew it was Mista, it felt like it could've been anyone. Another monster. How thrilling. 

"That's what the book said. "Blood is the life!" Don't you agree?" 

He didn't want an answer, just for Giorno to listen.

 “I am here to do your bidding, master, I am your slave.”The voice said behind him and chuckled.

"How true it all is now with you in front of me. Your blood will now intertwine with my life, just as mine did yours." 


Giorno for a moment revealed in the thought of not feeling real. He was only a concept that Mista controlled. He had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing he desired anymore than to betray the masculine ideal and submit himself to the shameful pleasure of being eaten alive. If being masculine was being strong, he wanted nothing more to be consumed by something entirely different. Giorno wasn't sure. Sure on whether or not he yearned to feel hopeless or for his partner. For Mista's list, In all of its perverted glory. Had he always been like this? He didn't know if he was scared, curious or terribly excited. Why not all at once? 


The base of Mista's tongue lapped up the taste of Giorno's neck, licking in the crook of it before planting a small kiss on his left collarbone. Giorno was facing the wall away from the window beside his desk, and could see a faint shadow of his boyfriends body from the light that the dark curtains failed to block out. He could see whatever Mista was doing, or  was going to do. The man was in no immediate sense of danger, but the threat felt so real, so genuine. 


The voice of his boyfriend broke the silence again, this time in a sing-song tone of voice, one that might unsettle someone panicked as he said, "you know that a humans teeth could bite through its own hand like an apple, yet it's the sheer idea of the pain that keeps us from doing it?". 

He spoke into the crook of Giorno's neck and waited for his boyfriend to nod in response, and when he did, he carried on. 

"That being said, the neck is a lot more tender than someone's hand. A lot less bone." 

Giorno knew where he was going with this. 

"And if it's the pain that stops humans from biting through their own flesh like a steak, I wonder how that theory would transpire when the pain isn't mine to feel?" 


There was no warning. No telling Giorno when it would happen, even though he knew it eventually would, but the pain was sudden and intense. The feeling of Mista's canines digging into his neck desperately, trying to rip past the thick layer of skin that protected Giorno's collarbone. He had hunted, and now it was his turn to be hunted. Guido bit down hard on his boyfriends neck, and Giorno whimpered at constant pain that spread up to his jaw, each individual tooth causing a different kind of pain. All Mista needed to do was get past the skin first, and then the soothing sensation of his blood getting sucked would help Giorno to forget the pain, yet it almost seemed like Mista was purposely dragging it out for as long as possible. His wrists tried to twist in their bounds and his chest arched forward each time the man gasped from entering a deeper level of pain, all for the sake of pleasure. He could squirm all he liked, he had been fixed to the chair and wasn't leaving until he was drained. 


With fangs, the bite was like a careful Incision-two needles sliding into your neck and drawing out the blood like a nurse. Initially, it would definitely hurt a great deal more, but at least vampires had the decency to make quick. But this was something different all together, as Mista's human teeth were blunt. His jaw clamped down on the skin in-between his rows of teeth, and grinded together in order to tear the flesh he so desperately wanted to get under. When the skin finally ripped, it felt as if a layer of tension had vanished, and Giorno could relax his body even if it only was slightly. 

He was owned. Owned by the feeling of being consumed, and leaving nothing behind. Giorno wondered if he had managed to make it this far without saying that word-the only thing he had been asked to focus on, because the act of drinking blood was primal to him-something he had to do to keep himself alive. Yet the twisted feeling of being sullied in such a way felt so perverse, like he was being submerged in a pit of filth as a thin film of sweat seemed to cover his entire body. 


Mista's jaw unclamped, and his teeth left the side of Giorno's neck, and for a moment the man felt disappointed at the feeling, but was met with the even better feeling of Mista's hot tongue lapping up the droplets of blood that had beaded on the fresh bite mark, letting out a small moan of contentment. 

Giorno felt a shiver run from his neck to the tips of his fingers, which made him grip the arm of the chair he had been restricted to. Going from such an immense pain, to the soothing sensation of Mista licking the blood from his neck made Giorno feel dizzy. He didn't know what had happened, he didn't know what would happen, all he knew was that he was soon to be devoured, like a fly trapped in a spiders web-Mista's web. 


Just like Giorno was his own personal lollipop to enjoy on such a pleasant Monday afternoon after work, Mista wrapped his plump lips around the now throbbing bite mark and began to gently suck on the wound. Giorno wasn't sure if Mista was hard, or even turned on, but a low growl seemed to hum in the back of the mans throat, and when he heard Giorno let out a small moan in response, he seemed to suck harder, and louder, as if he was trying to entice another whimper out. For the most part, Mista seemed to be enjoying himself-mentally ticking off the first idea from his long list of all things kinky. The list Giorno had asked him to make on impulse, and went through with the agreement out of sheer curiosity-the very emotion that still filled him, as he didn't understand why he wanted more. As the saying went, 'Curiosity killed the cat'. Mista would eat him whole and leave nothing behind if he wasn't careful, yet nothing in his body wanted to say his safe word. Curiosity did kill the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. 


With a little bit of effort, Mista's mouth slowly filled with Giorno's thick blood that left a salty taste on his lips. As the warm liquid hit the mans taste buds his eyes shut in an attempt to focus on the flavour and he let out a small exhale through his nose. Giorno felt that similar burning sensation in his abdomen-one that would travel down to his dick and fill him with the incessant need to touch himself for some unbeknownst reason. Although Giorno didn't want to, there was something so simple about a blood kink that he understood all too well, as the taste was almost orgasmic at time-the kind of taste that sent shivers down his spine and made his fingers ball into fists. Fresh blood was like oxygen to him, and sometimes Giorno felt as if he was constantly gasping for air until warm blood filled his throat. And in that way, he understood Mista, and managed to excuse his own excitement as an instinctual feeling rather then his own deep seated perverted fantasies coming true. 


Mista moved one of his hands down to his trousers, still keeping a gentle rhythm as he sucked on Giorno's neck, and in one quick movement undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper. The sound of the mans belt unbuckling made Giorno's eyes open wide and he tried to turn his head back to see what was happening, yet the man knew what was happening all too well, and in some ways it only made him want to watch more. To see Mista touch himself. 

Giorno let a whine escape from his lips that he immediately regretted, as a pang of embarrassment began to boil deep within him. Mista had looked up at the sound of his boyfriends wanton sounds, and slid his jeans down off of his shins and pulled them off. He grabbed his hard dick through his boxers, 

"You want this huh?" Mista asked, not expecting Giorno to nod desperately. 

His boyfriend shot him a look as he stood in front of him again, one that almost said ’are you sure you really want this?’, a look Giorno wasn't sure why his boyfriend kept shooting him. He wriggled in his restrains, desperate to get out of them and service his partner, like he had been taken over by lust. In that moment Giorno seemed to remember the quote Mista had whispered into his ear before he plunged his teeth deep into his neck. 

“I am here to do your bidding, master, I am your slave.”

How funny it was that Giorno has just realised that Mista was talking about him. What he would become. 

"You really want it that bad?" Mista questioned, then tapping his index finger against his chin before walking over to the other man and slowly undoing the knot that kept Giorno's chest restricted to the chair. When it was undone, Guido unwrapped the rope from his boyfriend's bare skin, and when the restraints fell to the floor, Giorno felt as if he could breath again, and took in a deep breath as soon as he could, but almost choked on the air in his throat as he watched Mista walk in front of him and stand over him. 


Something about being looked over didnt sit well with Giorno, as he soon recognised the feeling of panic overcome him. The feeling started off small enough for Giorno to brush off. After all, he wasn't used to doing anything like this, even if he did trust Mista. He was eye level with Mista's stomach, and stared directly at it for a moment before looking up to meet his boyfriend eyes that looked down at him with want. Mista rested one hand on his hip and toyed with the hem of his boxers with the other, his excitement still apparent by the clear outline of his hard on through his underwear. Giorno had been fine with the teasing, the sucking, the drinking, everything about the situation up until now. He'd jumped head first in the deep end of all things kinky. He had been drunk on lust but had seemingly sobered up. Something about the way the other man stood in front of him unsettled him in a way that reminded him of his past, not that Mista would ever do anything so horrible to him. He began to shake. 


He knew in that moment he didn't want to carry on with this kind of play anymore, at least for now. He wasn't sure why, but also hardly needed an explanation, for it wasn't standard for couples to tie each other up and suck their blood like vampires, eh? 

Giorno's heart beat quickened as his chest began rising and falling at a rapid rate; the mans palms became slick with sweat and his head started to feel dizzy, and his eyes were loosing focus. He grabbed the arms of the chair he was still tied to and gripped them, suddenly feeling the words he wanted to say get caught in his throat as he lowered his head and shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly. This was too advanced for him all of a sudden, and he felt his curiosity had certainly been satisfied. Mista realised his discomfort, and reached his hand out to his boyfriends shoulder as he had started to tremble. 


Worry washed over Guido, and he withdrew his hand and dropped down into a squat so he could observe the look of Giorno's face. Immediately when he did, a pang of guilt pricked at his sides, and straight away asked with panic in his voice, 

"Darling, what's wrong?". 

Giorno didn't know what to say, if he felt like he could speak. The man didn't manage any words still, unable to answer Mista's question, he simply shook his head feebly and tried to free his wrists from his restraints. 

"You want out? Oh-I'm so sorry babe I didn't-", but Mista didn't have to carry on, as Giorno managed to murmur a small "ladybug" for him, pulling harder on the rope that still held him to the chair, beginning to panic. If Giorno could, he would've sighed in relief, yet all he managed was a small whimper. 


Mista loosened the tight clove hitches that held Giorno's arms and legs down, and unwrapped the rope that had bound his wrists and ankles. Instantly Giorno stood to get out of the chair, but his knees gave way, causing him to come crashing down next to his Mista, luckily being caught by his boyfriend before he could hurt himself. He wasn't exactly sure why it had happened, but Giorno wasn't used to feeling so scared and helpless-or at least he hadn't felt such an emotion in awhile, as he recalled a time where it was all he knew. He flinched at Mista's touch, but craved his warmth, and wormed himself onto his lap, still letting out small whimpers with each shaky breath. The man worried that he had upset his boyfriend, but looked up to see Guido had  glazed over eyes as if he were about to cry, with his nose scrunched up in concern. When he noticed that Giorno had looked up, his face relaxed slightly, and he wrapped his arm about Giorno tighter, and reached his other hand up to his cheek with an endearing touch. 


"It's okay-it's okay I'm here~" Mista cooed, rocking him gently. 

"I'm here. It's over now." 

 Giorno wasn't upset with Mista, but himself. Yet he let his boyfriend carry on apologising for the time being. Anything, anything was better than hostile silence right now, and Mista's voice sounded so smooth and gentle, just like a lullaby. He was safe in Gudio's arms, that was for sure; safe enough to drift into a gentle sleep, one that would rid Giorno of the tears in his eyes and the terrible trembling that had taken over his entire body as his boyfriend held him. Yet Mista didn't let go, and only wrapped his arms around him tighter when he realised Giorno had fallen asleep. 


Giorno knew with Mista he could always try again.


Chapter Text

That night Giorno didn't want to sleep alone, and quite frankly didn't wake up until it was way past noon, as the sun had already began to sliver back down past the mountains that stood proudly outside of the mans office window. It was early evening, and when Giorno woke, he was still in Mista's arms, yet Mista was sat in the living room of Giorno's home, surrounded by the rest of the team that looked back at him with concerned faces. What gave it away was the darkness that began to swallow the sky outside the living room window, but apart from that Giorno wasn't sure whether he had been asleep for a few hours or a few days. The man felt like some kind of prized possession, as the four men that stood above hushed each other as they saw Giorno's eyes flicker open, and all cautiously took a step back as he moaned groggily, turning himself into Mista's chest. He instantly recognised the smell of his boyfriend, and snuggled against his cashmere jumper. 


If Giorno was looking, he could've seen Bruno shake his head in disbelief and started up. 

"Mista, I don't know what you did to Giorno, but you're a dead man," he barked, scrunching his fists up with rage, concerned for not only his bosses health, but someone he saw as a little bother, all the while Mista stared back into his enraged eyes with a seemingly calm glance. Guido carried on rubbing Giorno's back endearingly, and leant his head down to plant a small kiss on the top of his boyfriends head which made him mule. The kiss made Bruno hot with anger, and he took a step toward, raising his fist while everyone watched in shock, yet Abbacchio put his hand out and grabbed Bucciarati's before it could go swinging for Mista's head. 

"Listen, I'm sure Mista meant no harm," he ensured, 

"And Giorno would've never let him do anything if he didn't want it." 


Fugo and Narancia nodded their heads in agreement, wanting to keep the peace. Abbacchio had a point, and an argument wouldn't do Giorno's groggy state any good, as he still seemed slightly panicked in his boyfriends arms. The last time anyone had argued with Mista was Narancia, and after screaming bloody murder in each other's faces in La Libecco, to everyone's satisfaction, both men were thrown out by their collars, and the noise soon died down. Yet that was only because Narancia had taken his switch blade to Mista's cheek, and Narancia was sent to the hospital with a bullet through his foot. Guido needed four stitches in his right cheek, and Giorno, despite being 18 at the time, cried almost everyday until they were taken out. To be frank, arguing with Mista physically wasn't wise, and if anyone knew that, it was Bruno, as he was the mature one out of the group. 


Giorno shifted himself upright in Mista's lap and looked around, studying the room he was in. It was his own living room, and the lights had been dimmed so they hadn't woken the man up. Darkness had filled the sky above them, as it looked to be late evening, moving into the night; Giorno realised he must've slept the majority of the day, and immediately a sense of panic kicked in as he hadn't completed any of his work, even if it was a little. Mista held on firmly as his boyfriend attempted to rush to his feet, the other four men scrambling over to stop him, all the while mumbling under their breath. Before any of them could touch Giorno, they backed off, assuming their positions as they were before, standing around the two men sitting on the sofa.


Everyone else seemed to treat Giorno as if he were made of porcelain that had been carefully pieced back together, yet Mista only held onto him tighter as he tried to stand again in a confused haze. He wasn't scared to treat him a little harshly at times. It was tough, and real love. Despite it all, Mista still treated Giorno like he was still the same teenager that had waltzed into La Libecco that day, and he secretly thanked him for that, and often wondered if that's why he grew to love him. The others saw him as a boss, and hardly a comrade anymore, and the one thread that kept them sewn together was Mista-a breath of fresh air, a sense of normality. Whatever  that was. 


"Come on Bruno, don't start that shit in someone else's house." Mista complained, rubbing Giorno's back. 

And as if he hadn't heard their bickering, Giorno chimed in. 

"...what time is it...?" 


Everyone's heads snapped towards Giorno as he feebly spoke, and all looked down at him with the same look, a look that weirdly resembled fear, as if they were getting ready to fight. Giorno felt alienated, and curled himself back up in Mista's arms, holding his own shoulders as if he were trying to hug himself for some comfort. No one responded until Bruno looked down at his watch, 


With that, Giorno whined and shook his head, knowing he had slept all the way through his working day, and would rather have to stay up all night doing it, or have extra for tomorrow. Either way, it lead to exhaustion, and after today, Giorno was drained. Mista didn't say anything, but carried on rubbing his boyfriends back. 


"What were you guys doing anyway." Narancia asked, putting his hand on his hip, a look of confusion washing over his face. Guido looked down at Giorno momentarily, and then back up, ready to talk. But as he drew a breath, the air seemed to get stuck in his throat, and he relaxed his shoulders again. After that, Mista looked away to avoid giving himself away, and gave a nonchalant shrug. Narancia still stood waiting for an answer, and crook his head when he didn't get on, folding his arms.

"So you were just doing nothing?" Fugo added, siding with Narancia. 


For the godfather of the mafia, Mista was disgustingly bad at lying to his friends when they put him on the spot, as he began to sweat from the nerves. He bounced his leg and avoided their stares, holding onto Giorno even tighter for support as he lowered his head into his boyfriends hair. Guido didn't mind exposing himself for having such explicit tastes, and vaguely recalled a time where he had explained how he had wanted to "choke someone out" to Fugo, and had only stopped due to the disgust in his face. But having to explain to the others that Giorno had taken part in his perverted fantasies, well, if his boyfriend wanted to be branded as a pervert, he'd let him make that decision himself. 


"Pretty much." He scoffed.

"Absolutely nothing." 


Giorno put his hand to his forehead as his head began to throb and groaned gently. The pain in his head wouldn't go away, and would hardly get better with the sound of those around him bickering. He shook his head and extended his arm towards the bedroom door down the hall, and tugged on Mista's jumper with the other, whining gently with tug. Giorno felt extremely comfortable with his boyfriend, and was tired enough to not care if his other teammates were standing right beside him when he uttered, 

"Take me to bed bubbas..." in a quiet, shy tone. And to everyone else's surprise, Mista had flushed a bright bed and turned away from their stare's yet again, clearing his throat. If Mista's facial expression could talk, it would've said something along the lines of ‘don’t you fucking ask’,

 as he could already see a smirk pulling at Fugo's lips, and a look of confused wash over Narancia. Abbacchio rolled his eyes, and pulled Bruno closer. 

"I think we can go now." He pointed out, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one, stuffing the lighter back in his blazer as he took a drag. As Abbacchio exhaled, a cloud of smoke filled the room with the smell of smoke that everyone backed away from. The smoke found its way into Giorno's throat, and seemed to strangle him, making the man choke as he put his hand to his mouth and turned inward towards Mista's chest again for comfort. Mista rubbed his back, gently whispering kind words to him as he carried on coughing, then shooting Abbacchio a glare that would've killed him if looked could. 


Bruno glared at his boyfriend as well as Guido with a disappointed flare in his eyes and shook his head, then ushering him over towards the door. Abbacchio knew what he was doing, and with that, Bucciarati complied with his needs, and shut the front door behind both of them. Bickering could be heard from beyond the door, and Mista was at least thankful for that, but tutted in response of their manners, of lack of. 

"Not even a goodbye?", Mista questioned, rocking Giorno like a baby, who had finally stopped coughing. 


All that was left was Fugo and Narancia, who seemed not to take the hint as they only came closer, still questioning whether or not Giorno was well enough for them leave. Mista sighed and felt a small pang of annoyance bubble up inside him. ‘You’re really using that IQ of 151 now aren’t ya?’ the man griped to himself, wishing both of them would learn how to take a hint. He really did appreciate that they worried for him as much as they did, and it was more then Bruno and Abbacchio seemed to have to offer, but Giorno wasn't feeling well because of Mista's own misconduct, and he felt as if it was his job to rectify it, and him alone. Mista held him close, and stood up, carrying him like a baby, supporting his boyfriends head and back with his hands. 


"Thank you for sticking around", Mista started, 

"You can go home now. I've got him." He reassured his friends once again, bouncing Giorno ever so gently like a child while he gave a smile to Fugo and Narancia. Out of the group, the four in the room were a lot closer than before (minus Giorno's inherent mistrust in Fugo), and Mista was being truthful when he thanked them. They took Guido's wide smile and we're satisfied with it, both gently nodding at the man before Narancia got closer, and gently hugged Giorno's back, burying his head into his shoulder. In recent years, Narancia had grown lanky in length and wiry in strength, and easily stood taller than Mista when they stood next to one another, so reaching Giorno's neck was easy for him. 


"Please get better soon Gio!" Narancia had said in a hopeful voice, a beaming smile forming at his lips. It wasn't often that they got to act like friends instead of professional bodyguards anymore, and all four of them savoured every moment that they could all stop for a moment and take a break, but Mista really didn't have the time for that tonight, as he wasn't aware what damaged he had caused by sucking the blood from an already starving vampire. The hug between Giorno and Narancia was to be enjoyed, but not for long, as Narancia moved his head in towards the crook of his friends neck when his nose was met with a warm, wet feeling. Narancia moved his head back, and put two of his fingers to his nose, before pulling away, a small string of blood in between them like a piece of thread. The man looked up from his fingers to look where it had come from, and was taken back to see his boss with a more than hearty bite taken from his neck, that was bleeding maybe more than it should've been.


The bite was swollen and bruised around each individual tooth mark, and before long Narancia let out a screech that could be comparable to nails scratching down a chalkboard; strident and never-ending, with a flare of absolute horror in his voice. Ever since the treacherous week that left nearly all of them dead, and Bruno, Abbacchio and Narancia in critical condition, the young man had been left with a serious bout of Hemophobia-a fear he had to go to counselling for to get over, but in this situation, it seemed to have come back. When Narancia saw the thick, gooey liquid trail down Giorno's neck, the air seemed to get caught in his throat, and with the next desperate breath, he fell to the ground in horror. How ironic it was that Narancia could have such a fear-Hemophobia, and someone so close to him used that very thing to make his own blood rush through his body with pleasure. 


"Narancia!" Fugo reached out to catch his friend, but failed while Mista watched, stationary with shock. Guido hadn't seen that the bite mark was still bleeding, or was as inflamed as it was, so Narancia's reaction seemed far too melodramatic, before he nudged his boyfriends head over to the side, to then expose the flesh wound on his neck. Fear began to set in, and guilt washed over him, as he knew he was to blame for his boyfriends ailment.


"Please! I'll explain later, but can you please leave!" Mista pleaded with the others, still holding on tightly  to Giorno. The man put his hand out and swatted them towards the door, ignoring their desperate questions and Narancia's pale face from the very sight of the blood. Mista didn't want to be inconsiderate, but the last thing Giorno would've wanted attention drawn to him. After all, GioGio had only told Mista of his vampiric tendencies because he had found out on his own, let alone Fugo and Narancia. As Mista got closer to them, the other men stepped back, avoiding the mans hand that was ushering them out of the room like the plague. Mista carried on rambling random apologies for being so rude as he did it, and eventually got them out of the house for good, before slamming the door shut with a sigh. The sudden bang made Giorno flinch in his arms. 


With the jerking of his boyfriends body, Guido looked down to study Giorno's face, and soon cupped his cheek with the other hand that wasn't holding him and looked into his eyes. He didn't stare back, but Mista stared at him with worry and nodded his head, suddenly aware of what he had to do, and before long had rested his boyfriend on his hip, and took him through his apartment and opened the door to his bedroom. Every light in the room was off except for one bedside lamp which gave the room a soft ambient feeling from when Mista had gone in there earlier to set out Giorno's things, and walked over to the bed that stood with it’s back against the wall in the middle of the room and set Giorno down on it as if he were a doll; so fragile, is if made of porcelain. Although his eyesight was hazy and his brain overcome with such a groggy feeling, Giorno watched his boyfriend rid himself of his top and jeans as if it were his own personal, private show-a show he'd only be able to view, with the one character of Mista. 


If he was in a better mindset to think, Giorno would've wondered about the beauty of Mista, and thought of all the beautiful ways his svelte body let off a gentle shimmer in the feeble glow of the lamp. Giorno was upset; and struck with a simple bout of exhaustion after exerting himself so much with so little blood to drink. And in this case, when he had gotten a taste of the very thing that kept him alive, Mista had taken his own teeth to Giorno's neck and sucked it right back out of him. He needed to feed again, and like a tiger peering through the tall lemongrass, shimmying its hips in anticipation, Giorno watched his prey as he walked over to the wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room, slipping a top over his bare skin. 


It was a grey, low-hanging T-shirt, and Giorno couldn't help but wonder how beautifully it was look decorated with splotches Mista's blood after he had fed on him. All the man had to do was wait for his boyfriend to slip into bed next to him, and wrap his big, strong arms around him. He'd bury Giorno's head in the crook of his neck just like he always did, as if a free invitation, and if like clockwork, Mista first undressed Giorno, and left him naked before gently placing the blanket over him, and got in next to him. Mista stayed close, and planted a single kiss upon his boyfriends head before whispering a subtle "I love you", and a small, "I'm sorry", before bringing Giorno's head in closer to his neck, just as the man had predicted. 


Giorno stared at Mista's neck with want, and in what felt like a somewhat patronising way, his neck stared back as if it had grown a pair of beady eyes just for the occasion, and a mouth that begged the man to sink his fangs into the soft flesh that had been exposed. Mista's turtleneck had covered the two bite marks that already decorated his neck, and Giorno was sure if he tried hard enough, he could get his fangs in at the exact same place as before. And if Mista was quick to fall asleep, as he always was, he could do it without his boyfriend ever knowing, and blame the ache he'd feel in the morning on how ravenous he had been the day before with his drinking. Giorno was always a messy eater after all. 


The man next to him fell gently into a slumber he'd hopefully not be woken from until the morning, as Giorno let his fangs extend and peek out from behind his top lip, ready for Mista's neck. The sharp edges of them pierced the already damaged skin, and slowly sunk into his flesh. Giorno was careful, unconsciously trying to be as kind as possible, and Mista was thankful, for his sleeping body only let out a half-moan in pain before drifting back off to sleep while he had the life sucked out of him. He drank like a child clinging onto life, and felt the colour come back to his formerly pale cheeks, and the strength in his arms return as he held onto Mista's arm all the more tightly as he couldn't get enough. 


Mista had been the one. The one to make such a long list of twenty, and so far, they had only completed one. And as Giorno thought about it as he drunk, he had to stop a smile forming at his lips, for the very thought of the rest of the list being anywhere near as pleasurable as this, Giorno would've had to punish himself for not thinking of such a proposition sooner. Whether or not it was the bloodlust or his true rational thoughts speaking the man wasn't sure. He'd find out in the morning, waiting with anticipation for Mista, and how his boyfriend would try to rectify his supposed mistake the day before. Would it be another something ticked off his list, or something softer than that? Only the morning could tell Giorno, so he retracted his fangs and drew them in, before giving the flesh wound a lick clean, and then hurried his head into Mista's chest. Sweet dreams.

Chapter Text

The room was dark; all the curtains had been drawn, and the bedside lamp switched off, so for the most part, if Giorno had to guess, he would've said it was still the middle of the night. Yet he knew after only a few moments that his assumptions definitely weren't the case. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and buttered toast danced into the room as the door had been left ajar, and Giorno straight away knew it was indeed the morning, and better yet, Mista was cooking breakfast. Giorno wished he could've said that ironically, but it was true that Mista was undoubtedly skilled in the kitchen, and made food for even the man to enjoy, despite his vampiric nature. He could imagine Mista had made a fry up, something the man had told him was an English breakfast dish, consisting of fried bread, bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, mushrooms, and most importantly, the black pudding. Admittedly, the black pudding was the best part, after all, it essentially was just congealed pigs blood. The English seemed strange to Giorno for eating that so early in the morning, but after trying it for himself for the first time, he realised just why they did. 


He rolled over and stretched out his body with a whine before sitting up and throwing the blanket off of his lap. The gentle, warm air hit Giorno's naked body as he rubbed his face, trying to wipe away any of the sleepiness that still remained. His skin held a lot more colour than it had before in recent weeks, and his fingernails didn't look so brittle, and the man hadn't woken up with a headache that throbbed in the front of his forehead that lasted for the whole day. If Giorno had remembered correctly, these we're definitely the signs of a good feeding session. The blood of another, who had been unaware had left their body, only to nourish Giorno's, and where it usually made him feel only a little guilty, that same feeling seemed to drown him as he remembered who he had fed from the night before. 


That's right, he had drunk from Mista until his heart was content, and like a selfish child, had gone back and gobbled him up for seconds like it wasn't anyone else's business. His boyfriend was unconscious, so he didn't really get when to stop drinking, but only did when the taste of blood began to become sickly sweet, and a chore to carry on sucking. He shot up out of bed, as fast as his legs could carry him, and threw his bedroom door open, running into the kitchen. When the man laid eyes on Mista who stood facing the kitchen hob, indeed cooking a full English breakfast, he felt a sense of relief as his heart pounded in his chest. 


Mista let out a low hum, one that sounded like the tune of 'daisy, daisy', something Giorno again recognised as English. After finding out Giorno was half-English, Mista had taken interest in the matter, and he supposed thats where the breakfast had come from. He stood tall in his low-hanging T-shirt still and a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms, chopping what looked to be mushrooms, and then adding them to the pan. The sizzle of the bacon and the gentle sound of Mista's hum was soothing, and Giorno sat down at the dinning table just behind him, being as quiet as possible so he wouldn't notice.


"Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do.

I'm half crazy all 

for the love of you.

It won't be a stylish marriage,

I can't afford a carriage.

But you'll look sweet,

Upon the seat,

Of a bicycle built for two."


Giorno shut his eyes and listened with content, resting his chin in his hand, swaying his head slightly to the gentle tune his boyfriend almost whispered out. Mista's hum turned into a sing-song kind of voice, that barely made it over the sound of the spitting oil as he fried off the mushrooms. The sound of the pan, the song, the tranquil singing of the birds from just beyond the window uplifted the man sat at the table, and almost sent him back to sleep with what wonderful lullaby they all worked together to make. It was moments like this that Giorno thought it was finally all worth it. What "it" was, he was never sure, but it felt right. 


"Charlie, Charlie,

here is your answer true.

I'm not crazy all for the love of you.

There won't be any marriage,

If you can't 

afford a carriage.

'Cause I'll be switched,

If I get hitched,

On a bicycle built for two!"



With a spin on the balls of his heels, Mista turned around, and jumped slightly at the sight of his boyfriend, yet his expression soon softened. The man looked him up and down and scoffed, putting his hands on his hips. Giorno wasn't sure why he had done that, until the man became aware of what he was wearing, or lack of, and covered his nipples with his hands and crossed his legs. Mista always sounded so sexy in the morning, Giorno had to cross his legs even harder when the blood rushed to his cheeks-and-well, to his lower regions. 


"Mornin' sexy." 


Good morning, sexy indeed. 



"So you want to go where?" 


 A blush dusted across his nose and he chewed the inside of his cheek. His right hand tapped against the table and his legs bounced under it. This was exactly what Guido Mista did when he was embarrassed, but determined to say the least. Ever since he'd served them their full English, Giorno had barely been able to get a bite in, as Mista had began to ramble, something the man knew he did when he was trying to prove a point. Giorno wouldn't of minded this, if everything he said hadn't ended with a question, one he undoubtedly had to answer as Mista looked back with a glint in his eyes. What he was trying to prove, Giorno wasn't sure, as he just kept listing places, and asking the man if he had been there before, or liked it, something he found useless. 


"Oh-what about the new pizzeria downtown? That's nice, Narancia said they do a really n-"

"Ive been there." 


He didn't mean to come off as blunt, But with Mista you had to be frank, or he never got the hint. Giorno didn't want to outright say it, because he hoped that Mista would've grasped the concept himself by now, but being the ringleaders of the Italian mafia, and two of the most powerful men in the whole of Italy didn't equate to being able to show your face in public as often as one might want to, as threats were always high. Giorno shook his head as he looked down at his plate and played with the black pudding underneath his fork before shoving it into his mouth before Mista asked him another question. 


"So then what to you wanna do?" Mista almost whined in a defeated tone, only trying to do something nice for his boyfriend after he felt like he'd wronged him the day before. Giorno felt a small twinge of guilt stab his sides, as he was the one who should be trying to apologise after secretly drinking from him again, and not telling him in the first place. Mista looked paler than usual, slower in his speech and such, and Giorno knew he was to blame. 



The man put down his fork, and reached his hand out, grabbing Mista's. He looked into his dark eyes with affection and squeezed his hand, which made his boyfriends expression soften as he rubbed his thumb against Giorno's. 

"Let's stay in. Do something here-some nice 'us time'." The man proposed to Mista with a small "Hm?" after, waiting for a reply. The man took a moment to think about it, but then nodded with a smile. Mista always had the cutest smile; like sunshine on a rainy day. How glad Giorno was to see it. How guilty it made him feel about the night before. 


"Say, you feel okay this morning?" Giorno asked, already aware of the answer, but hearing it from his boyfriends lips would force him to think of an apology. 

"I do feel a bit tired," he started, 

"Almost like I didn't just get nine hours of sleep", Mista chuckled, kissing Giorno's hand before letting go of it and looking back down at his breakfast, shovelling a forkful of beans in his mouth. 


Giorno needed to come clean, or it didn't feel right. The man was good at doing things secretly to get what he wanted, after all, he was the literal boss of the mafia. Giorno figured he'd be good at lying and manipulating people by now, and he was, apart from when it came to Mista that was. He was so straightforward about everything to the point where you felt bad if you weren't either. 

"Bubbas I know why you're tired." 

Giorno said, looking up at Mista sheepishly. 

"Did you hog the bed again?" The other man shot back at him with a humoured scoff. 


"Oh! Did you steal the blankets?" 

"Not that..." 

"Then wh-"

"I drank from you again last night..." 


Everything was silent for a moment while Giorno looked down with guilt, and Mista even stopped eating, staring at Giorno, or through Giorno it almost seemed as he looked spaced out to say the least. Giorno's heart pounded in his chest as his boyfriend continued not to say anything, but soon enough he picked his cutlery back up and carried on eating, nodding in agreement with what Giorno had said. 


He shoved some of the mushrooms from his plate in his mouth. 

"That'll explain it", He said very nonchalantly, with his mouth still full. 


Mista wasn't pissed off in the slightest, yet he had every right to be. Giorno almost didn't understand it;  just how laid back can a person be before it becomes concerning? This was on the cusp of that said concern. 

After breakfast, Mista had suggested Giorno get in the shower, and after becoming painfully aware of his nakedness yet again when he said that, he sprinted off in the direction of the bathroom door and let it slam shut. Giorno wasn't sure if he'd suggested to take a shower because he smelt or because Mista wanted to be angry by himself for a moment after he had been told he'd been fed on again, the man wasn't sure, but he aimed to stay out of his way for an hour or so if the latter was the case. He washed himself, shampooed his hair, brushed it, dried himself, braided his hair, and while it was still wet to add some curl, got himself dressed and found himself staring dead on at his reflection in the mirror...all within thirty minutes. 


He had nothing left to do, he was dry, clean and more than bored standing idly in the bathroom, staring down at his phone with not much more to do on there. Giorno had even resorted to flicking through his camera roll to pass the time, but finding nothing more than pictures of various plants he had seen around town and Mista's naked body, it left him just as bored as he was before, as quite frankly, he could see both of those things at any time he wanted in the first place. If Mista was angry at him, the last thing Giorno knew he should do was leave it unaddressed, so with a sigh he bit his tongue before he could talk himself out of it, pushed open the bathroom door and looked down the hallway for his boyfriend. 


All Giorno could see was whitewashed walls and the glossy wooden floor, and all he could hear was a deafening silence that seemed to fill the whole house. At the end of the hall, if you turned right, sat the living room, which was where he had assumed Mista had gone after breakfast, so Giorno felt even more addled then before. But before the right turn, hung nonchalantly on the wall was the window that stared right back at him with what the man could only imagine would be a smirk, if windows could of course. The blinds were open, and the beaming slivers of early morning sunlight burst through the glass and felt like bombs on Giorno's skin as he got closer to shut them. Like drops of water on a fire, his skin felt hot, and bubbled in patches like a sunburn. 

"Fucking good morning to you too sun" the man griped with pain in his voice and he reached the blinds and closed them in a hurry, a frown forming at his lips. 


Yet the frown wasn't from the pain-Giorno was quite used to that. But how beautifully tranquil the day looked to be already, and so early in the morning. So beautifully sunny, especially for early September. The view from Giorno's dorm window was nothing compared to the view from his new home, as it peered directly down at his back garden that shone with each shade of green; whether that be from the grape vines that hugged the cherry red trellises that worked as an archway, up to the pond that sat in the middle of the garden, decorated with lily pads and tall grass. It was a shame he could never sit in the sun again without the pain of burning under his skin anymore, and for what? Some father he'd never meet? The man put his ear to the wall next to the window and shut his eyes, concentrating on the soft sound of lullaby from the sparrows that sat on the willow tree outside and smiled softly at the thought of them nesting there next spring. 


"Ah shit!" 

Giorno heard a voice complain from the living room. 

He opened his eyes once more and walked towards the noise, peering around the corner before seeing Mista flailing his arms around in a fit, as a blanket was wrapped around his head. Mista was stood between the long 'L' shaped sofa and Giorno's coffee table that stood in the middle of the room, still unable to find his way out of the confinement's of the  blanket over his head, like a normal twenty two year old man. Next to him laid a pile of duvets and throw blankets, some already strewn across the room as he managed to free his head, and threw the blanket to the other side of the room, swearing in a low voice to himself. What Giorno had just seen, he wasn't too sure, but let out a hearty chuckle at Mista's clumsiness, putting his hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter. 


Mista went bright red after realising Giorno was there and frowned, feeling embarrassed that he'd gotten caught doing whatever he was doing, and folded his arms waiting for Giorno to be done laughing. But Giorno's stomach hurt, and it seemed like he still had a lot left to laugh at, almost enough to make him forget that he'd been worried Mista might've been angry at him. If that was the case, this definitely wouldn't of helped, but in that moment, he found the man too funny to not laugh at. 


"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Mista said, putting his hands on his hips. 

"I'm a real funny guy huh?" He carried on, trying to sound as annoyed as possible, but failing miserably as he bit his lip, trying to hold back a giggle at the sight of his boyfriend who had fallen to his knees after laughing so hard, red in the face, and holding his tensed stomach. With each breath in, Giorno seemed to snort even louder like a pig, which Mista eventually flaked and laughed at.

For what seemed like forever the living room was filled with wholesome laughter, both men only having to look at each other to start again while holding their stomachs in the mixed pleasure and pain. Giorno was on his hands and knees, and Mista had knelt down to help him up, but eventually found himself sat on his ass, paralysed with laughter. 


What they were laughing at really didn't award such an intense fit of laughter, but when Giorno and Mista managed to both sit on their knees and recollect themselves, breathing erratically for a moment after losing all of their breath, Giorno finally asked, 

"What was all that about?", still chuckling through his words.


If the laughing hadn't already made Mista's cheeks flush bright red, Giorno's question did, as he looked away momentarily out of embarrassment, and then stuck to his calm and confident personality. 

"I wanted to build us a blanket fort!" He said, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. 

"You know- for our date!" 


Giorno smiled warmly at the gesture, and realised that Mista had most likely told him to get in the shower not because he was angry at his late night drinking habits, but wanted to secretly set up a blanket fort for Giorno instead. He wasn't annoyed at him at all, just excited to love his man-and for that Giorno was glad he had waited those three years to tell him how he felt. The man put his hand to his chest and felt it thumping like a drum. Before Giorno could carry on, Mista did instead, standing up and looking down at his partner. 

"I wanted to watch pretty woman with you!" 

Giorno knew that was Mista's favourite film, and ignored the fact he'd already watched it with him nine times, but nodded and agreed, simply so he could see the look of happiness on Mista's face for a few hours. 


"You get the snacks. I'll set up the fort. You suck at this, Guido." 


With three boxes of cipsters, a tray of Cannoli, and two iced drinks Mista had made sure they wouldn't go hungry during the film, as both men watched, snuggled together under a warm blanket in the cosy confinement's of Giorno's well-made blanket fort. The sun had hid behind clouds of dark grey, and Mista sat practically mouthing the entire movie word-for-word as he watched with such intent, a gentle shimmer in his eyes. Giorno didn't mind the movie, but admittedly hadn't paid any attention to the film the now ten times they had watched it together for he always found himself staring at the man next to him instead with just as much intent-or was it want? 


As Mista bit his lip in anticipation, Giorno's cheeks flushed a deep red, and he suddenly felt his face become hot. His cheeks burned, and under the mountain of blankets they were hid under, with Mista's strong arm around him as well, it suddenly made him disgustingly hot, as the man sat up and reached for his icy drink and took a big gulp to calm his nerves. Mista didn't acknowledge Giorno sitting up, or him sitting back with his cup in his hand as he was busy reading subtitles. In fact, Mista was so sucked into the movie that he hadn't realised Giorno's eyes almost burning a whole in the side of his face as he watched with a blush across his face. And Giorno was so sucked into watching the way Mista wet his lips with his tongue, something he did when he was concentrating that he hadn't realised his hand was tipping over, and spilt a splash of his drink straight into Mista's lap. 


Giorno realised as soon as he felt the water run down his wrist and held it back up right as Mista yelped at the sudden feeling of ice and squash* pooling in his lap. The man looked down and held the bottom of his top away from Giorno so the water didn't run down onto his boyfriend and seemed slightly more than unbothered with the whole situation. Yet Giorno didn't think that was the case at all as he immediately started apologising, reaching his hand out to Guido who looked at him slightly confused. 

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Giorno said in an apologetic voice. 

"I didn't realise..." 


The man shook his head and smiled at GioGio, which seemed to calm his nerves slightly. If Mista had done the same, Giorno would've definitely sworn at him and ruined the mood, but Mista simply looked over and brushed it off. It was like pretty woman put him into some kind of trance Giorno had thought, as Mista picked up the three ice cubes from his lap and stuck them in his mouth, sucking on them gently as he looked over at his boyfriend. 

"It's alright babe" he said with a shrug, kissing Giorno's cheek in the process. 


His face felt cold, which contrasted Giorno's burning cheeks, both from want and embarrassment. Without thinking Giorno leaned his head in towards Mista's and rubbed his cheek along the other mans sharp jawline, that was littered with prickly stubble that tickled his face. The feeling was so comforting that Giorno almost couldn't stop himself from running his finger tips along the harsh contours of his Adam's apple that stood out from his neck, then moving his hands back up to wear Mista's five o'clock shadow would be. Mista shuddered slightly under his boyfriends touch, and moved his head to the side until his eyes met Giorno's that looked heavy with concentration as he traced the outline of Mista's lips with his index finger. His lips were full and wide, something Giorno found indescribably attractive, that complimented his dark eyes and hair that flopped down to his ear in ringlets. 


Giorno looked up at Mista once more, and moved his finger from the other mans lips before leaning his head slightly, eager to get a kiss. Mista followed, then taking the lead as he grazed his lips against Giorno's, who gasped into the other mans mouth at the sudden feeling of their bodies connecting in such an intimate way. Giorno could feel his fangs extending-something that seemed to happen when he was excited that he'd had to keep at bay before, but now he didn't have to. They looked back at each other for a moment once again before Mista shut his eyes and put his hand to Giorno's cheek, kissing him softly but sternly, making his boyfriend melt like butter in his hands. Giorno trembled at the sudden sensation of something cold touching his lips, before realising that Mista was still sucking on the three ice cubes he'd spilt on him a few moments ago, yet the feeling wasn't entirely bad as he strangely wanted to feel it again. 


And with that thought, Giorno did just that, leaning into Mista's kiss again, opening his mouth just a little to allow the slippery ice cube to slip from one mouth to the other, all the while the two men melted into the passion of their kisses, lips moving in rhythm with one another. The younger man let a moan escape his throat as he put his hands to Mista's big, strong chest, and pulled away for moment to catch his breath. 


Mista panted gently, and looked up at his boyfriend with a shocked expression as he watched Giorno suck on the nearly completely melted ice cube in his mouth, as he wasn't expecting him to make such a bold move. A small smirk pulled at Giorno's lips as he nudged his own fingers into his mouth and swirled them around in a scissoring motion, all the while Mista watched in utter shock. Purposely, the man let out a small moan that escaped from between his fingers, then running the base of his tongue along them, forming a loud but wet sucking sound that filled the room. Mista's mouth hung open and a blush dusted across his cheeks, as he was always the one to initiate these kind of things, and suddenly watching his boyfriend suck of his fingers as of it were something else entirely, letting out small desperate moans made his cock twitch. 


"I'm so hot daddy..." 

"Won't you cool me down..?"


That's when Mista lost it.

Chapter Text

That's when Mista lost it. 


Mista didn't know when Giorno had learnt to use the word daddy during sex, but all that he knew was that he'd always secretly wanted to wrap his hands around that pretty little neck of his while he fucked him and screamed for his daddy to go harder. The way Giorno moaned-it was high-pitched and desperate, as if he were drunk off of lust already. The sound made Mista's dick twitch in his jogging bottoms, and he shifted his legs to sit up straight so it was more comfortable while he watched his boyfriend whore himself out in front of him. And by whoring himself out, he meant it, as Giorno took Mista's hand in his, paying extra attention to his middle and index finger, before running them along his bottom lip. 


Giorno let out a coy giggle before pressing Mista's fingers down on his bottom lip, to the point that they seemingly forced their way into his mouth. Once they did Giorno swirled his tongue around them, and Mista gasped and bit his bottom lip at the feeling they seemed to travel from his fingertips to his dick. They had forgotten all about the film, even if it was Mista's favourite as Giorno continued to suck on his fingers like a lollipop, loud slurps filling the room. Giorno began to bob his head slowly along Mista's slender fingers, and held the two he had in his mouth at the base, letting out a gentle moan around them to entice his boyfriend even more, who licked his lips hungrily.


The couples sex up to now was vanilla to say the least, to the point they hadn't even tried blow jobs which Giorno was only slightly curious to try before, but now he seemed to understand a little bit better. It was all eyes on him, and there was no way Mista would get bored of this view-the view of his boyfriend who was innocent and docile at the best of times now suck off his fingers as if it were his dick. Mista wasn't aware he had a corruption kink, but the thought of sullying something; leaving a stain that was never to come out made his abdomen burn. The stain was his long list of twenty, and it had begun to seep into the boy underneath him like a drop of red wine on a freshly washed white button up.


Mista eyed the icy drink off to the side of him and a sudden smirk pulled at his lips, as if all his hard work of waiting had paid off. His lips were pulled from ear to ear, and seemingly without Giorno noticing, or caring to notice, Mista reached over to the glass and pulled it closer with his free hand so he could begin to finger the drink. The ice clicked against the glass gently, and soon enough without his fingers slipping this time, Mista had managed to slide one of the remaining ice cubes up the side of the cup and plopped it into his palm. Giorno, still not caring to look over, as if in a haze of lust while he sucked on his boyfriends fingers leant his head down. 


And my was it a good view for Mista-his boyfriend still sat down, neck deep on his fingers, in his almost disgustingly tight pink gym shorts that had began to ride up his thighs, and his white vest too. The only thing that would've made his outfit all the more perfect to Mista is if he wore a pair of thigh-high long socks with it, so they would've hugged his legs so tight that the muscle in his thighs sat just over the fabric. Giorno was so focused, so deep in a trance called sexual arousal that he had almost forgotten about everything around him, hardly caring about the sound of the movie quietly playing in the background, or the wet patch on Mista's top that refused to let up-still expanding in size. 


Mista used this to his advantage and moved the piece of ice from his palm up his finger tips and then observed it quickly with a small glance. With his other hand, he gently picked up Giorno's plait and held it in his hand for a moment, wondering how terribly beautiful the strangled moan that would come out of his boyfriends mouth would sound if he pulled it. Like a whimper-no-a yelp, but Mista wasn't sure which one would sound better. A whimper would be needy, desperate, and almost tell him on its own how much Giorno wanted Mista to do it again as he'd tighten his grip on his boyfriends hair and yank his head backwards even more earning some kind of pained moan that would fuel the perverted fire that burned so intensely, so brightly in the depths of his soul. A yelp-that's more like it. Sudden-and represents true pain and fear, a sudden feeling that wasn't expected and in some ways wasn't appreciated. Giorno would sound cute nonetheless, and the little hint of reluctance in his voice would only spur him on more. Yet Mista had something else in mind, that would earn an even better response from the boy. 


The man pushed Giorno's hair to the side in a nonchalant way, and let it hang over his shoulder. Giorno's neck was left exposed with a gentle blush dusted across it, as if it were aware of what Mista was about to do, as he lowered the piece of ice to his boyfriends neck and ran the slimy ice cube along his skin that burnt with passion. A yelp slipped out of Giorno's mouth and Mista's eyes lit up in delight. 

A yelp-how perfect-how cute! 

Giorno in that moment seemed to gag on Mista's fingers, and pulled his face away from them as the sudden sensation of ice touching his neck sent a tingling sensation through his body. The man didn't know if he was imagining it, but he was sure Mista made a face of pure delight in that moment, as if Giorno's sudden look of momentary discomfort was what he was really looking for.


As Giorno caught his breath, avoiding Mista's gaze out of some kind of embarrassment, the other man spoke it what could've been described as a low growl. 

"Lay back for me."


And like an obedient dog taking orders from its owner, Giorno did just that, laying flat on his back to stare up at the low ceiling of the blanket fort they still found themselves in, and almost let out a chuckle, as it was true he could only imagine Mista being the kind of person to have sex in a blanket fort. Yet he bit back the chuckle, as he felt like letting out any kind of sound would've equated to punishment, and Giorno in that moment noted that Mista managed to do that a lot during sex, even if it was when they fucked vanilla. His boyfriend was so domineering without realising it that he made Giorno feel small, but he didn't entirely understand if he was trying to do that. Either way, Giorno tried to convince himself otherwise, but he knew he didn't hate it. When you're a Don-the leader of the whole mafia, the feeling of being powerless is made scarce, and sitting under his boyfriend who held an ice cube in hand and a smirk pulling at his lips made him feel like he was playing a game of cat and mouse. He had been trapped-and Mista was ready to gobble him up. Weak don. You didn't even put up a fight. You're powerless and useless. How exciting. 


Fire met ice, the fire that burnt deep inside Giorno's heart as it came into contact with his chest, making him jump at the sudden sensation. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts of desire that he hadn't realised Mista was ready play as he felt his entire body shudder, a cold, tingling feeling running from his chest, all the way to the tips of his fingers. Water began to pool in the dip where his sternum was, and his heart pounded in his chest, suddenly so much more excited then he had been moments ago before this had all started. Mista didn't say a word, but Giorno could hear his steady breathing as he got to work, drawing in a circular motion with the ice cube, but not progressing much past this. Giorno was new to this, but he wanted more. Just like their blood play the day before, it felt like his urges weren't something he could exactly control as he let a shine fall from his tongue and fill the room. The boy squirmed beneath Mista, almost pushing his fingers more towards his nipples. Mista knew they were a sensitive spot on his boyfriends body, and had purposely avoided them, unaware of how quickly he could make the boy beg for more. Unlike the day before, Giorno didn't seem panicked, and a small feeling of relief pooled inside Mista.


"Be patient Caro mio~" Mista purred into the crook of his boyfriends neck. 

"Good boys get what they want" 


Giorno whined once again, bucking his hips up towards Mista's who had straddled him moments before. He was unsure of how to be a good boy, there wasn't exactly a 'don's guide on how to be good for your kinky boyfriend' he could read up on, and he was new to this kind of play. This all started when he'd let the word 'daddy' slip out from the back of his throat, and he wasn't exactly sure where that had come from, but it had felt right. All Giorno knew was he wanted more as he looked up at Mista, and if saying that one sweet, sweet, word would get him what he wanted, he'd play into it. 


"Please daddy", Giorno moaned desperately, looking up into his partners eyes. 

"Mista I've been so good" 


Mista shook his head and scoffed, moving his hand away from Giorno's chest and lowered his head into the crook of his boyfriends neck. He inhaled deeply, taking in the subtle smell of lavender that danced on Giorno's skin from the soap after taking a shower not long before. Mista found that his boyfriend always smelt so comforting to him, and if he was allowed to he'd spend his whole day with his face buried under his top, taking in his musk. It was delicate and freeing, light and gentle. Guido couldn't wait to corrupt it-stain Giorno with the smell of sex and sweat until even his potent lavender soap couldn't even mask it. 

"Would it kill you to use my actual name?", Mista said with a smile, half joking. But before Giorno could utter any kind of apology, his boyfriend had silenced him, biting into his neck to distract him from the feeling of the ice cube Mista had previously removed from his skin onto his nipple, sending shockwaves through his body. Giorno almost seemed to convulse underneath him as he felt the cold, slimy feeling of the ice trace the outline of his nipple mixed with the sting of his boyfriends bite, hurting all the more as he had already been bit there the day before. If Mista wasn't careful, he'd open the wound up again, but the fear of it all only seemed to spur both men on more as Giorno rolled his hips up towards Mista's hard dick in his trousers. 


But his boyfriend was far from done as he unclamped his jaw and licked the bite mark incase he had drawn blood before whispering a string of apologises into his neck, now focusing on the ice that continued to circle his boyfriends nipple, much to Giorno's liking. 

It felt like a snow day-when your hands are weathered and turning faintest shade of purple from the bitter cold, only to brought back inside where the warmth could consume them. A strangle tingle, that was uncomfortable in an oddly nice way. With his other hand, Mista ran his slender fingers through the three curls that sat at the front of Giorno's hairline, undoing them so he could play with the golden locks. Giorno had always hated his hair being touched, and had only began to put it up in a plait to keep it out of the way of others. But when Mista played with it, his whole body seemed to instantly relax, and he remembered just how much he loved the other man. Only Mista, and Mista alone could touch him.


Giorno wasn't sure what he was experiencing at this point, but all he knew was that he liked it as he felt Mista snake his hands under his waistband, and feel for the hem of his boxers, but was shocked to find out he wasn't wearing any as if Giorno had planned this all along. As his boyfriend felt around some more before realising, the man smirked into his hands that he threw over his face in embarrassment. The cool feeling of the ice against his sensitive nipple mixed with Mista's gentle hands sneaking their way down to Giorno's hardening cock made the man feel light-headed, and he gasped as he felt cold fingertips come into contact with the heat of his erection that was begging to be released from its confinement's. 


The melting ice cube moved away from Giorno's nipple and sat nicely in the dip of his sternum again, and the boy was met with the familiar sting of ice burn. Mista was too distracted by slowly working his boyfriends shorts off that he hadn't noticed Giovanna writhing underneath him at the cold, but something in the boys mind had wondered if that was his plan all along as he heard the older man scoff and let out a cocky chuckle. Shorts were finally thrown In the air, and Guido bit his lip in anticipation as he looked at the scene beneath. He wanted to gobble up Giorno, until there was nothing left of him, and the only thing he had left to do was say Mista's name like a broken record. 


"God you look so fucking perfect right now~" Mista's moaned before shoving the ice cube deep into Giorno's sternum, making the boy gasp in pain at the sudden pressure on his chest, and dragged it down along his abdomen, letting some of the water pool in his bellybutton. Giorno felt like the pain was in some ways justified as he burnt against the feeling of the blood pumping in his veins, as most of it previously belonged to the man above him after the hearty feeding session he had the night before, and momentarily felt bad before the man could hear Mista spit into his palm, and then began stroke Giorno's throbbing length. 


Giorno's back arched and he gasped in pleasure, shuddering at the feeling of the man above him jerking him off suddenly, feeling Mista's thumb tease the tip of his cock, running gentle circles along it as it twitched in his hand. The boys hips bucked in desperation as he craved for more friction against his dick, but was quickly stopped as Guido forced his hips against the floor, which arguably was more painful then any of the ice burns he'd gotten moments before. 

"Fuck-Mista!" Giorno snapped at him, a hint of annoyance in his voice, much to Mista’s disapproval. 


“Don’t snap at me like that caro mio” he started, 

“Why won’t you call me by my first name, Giorno? Hm?”. 


Giorno wasn’t sure why, but Mista’s tone didn’t help, and it made a deep seated anger boil deep inside of him as the pain from being shoved down subsided. At this point, it was less about the pain, and more about the fact Mista had managed to interrupt every single one of their sexual encounters recently, and ruin it before it had even started. The younger man snapped back finally. 


“Well no, the name ‘fucking idiot’ isn’t really that sexy now, is it?”. 

Giorno didn’t sound overcome with lust anymore, but simply pissed off. At what? Mista shoving his hips down? Guido didn’t understand as Giorno began to get up, looking around for whenever his shorts were flung and scoffed in anger. 


“Oh come on babe-” Mista reached his hand out to grab Giorno’s to apologise, but his boyfriends swatted it away and mumbled under his breath. 

“Muda muda.” 

Whenever Giorno spoke in Japanese to the man, he knew he’d upset him, but what he had done completely went over his head. 


“Fine. Fucking be like that then.” 


They had work they needed to be doing anyway. 

Chapter Text

It was obvious to the others. Something had happened between the two. 


Mista sat at the end of the table with his nose turned up at his piece of strawberry cake, as if he hadn't begged for it like a baby every other time he ordered it, and only because Giorno seemed intently eating the rest of his-or more like scoffing it-or eating his emotions Bruno almost wanted to deduce. The older man had come in first out of the two, and sat down in his usual seat next to Abbacchio at the familiar back table in the restaurant they had always gone to, and ordered some cake without a word. By then, everyone but Giorno and Mista had turned up, and were about to question the man on what had actually happened two days before when Giorno had fallen ill, when the man himself threw open the door and stormed in. Speak of the devil and he might just turn up if you ask nicely. 

Giorno carried what looked like his own personal storm cloud that hung over his head, making the scorn that stained his face all the more concerning as an air of anger swarmed him. Judging by the dismissive energy from Mista compared to his usual rambunctious demeanour, and Giorno's exasperated expression as he threw himself down into his chair far enough away from Mista's to be noticeable, the others had questions that would seemingly go unanswered. It was obvious they were purposely avoiding each other's gaze, one petty side-glance to the next as Giorno poured himself a cup of tea and took to its company more than his own boyfriend. 


Abbacchio found it pitifully funny, of a nineteen and a twenty two year told to be playing such childish games with one another, after all, at Giorno's age he had already become a man of the law, and lived to serve the police force. On the contrary, Giorno achieved the title of the passione's Don four years before that, and what made Abbacchio even more concerned is that the most powerful man In Italy right now sat on the other side of him pretending like his boyfriend didn't exist as if he were twelve. "Well he's the most mature one out of all of us, Leone" Bruno had told him a number of times in situations where Giorno's brash ideas had put them in uncompromisable situations, but Abbacchio was sure his own boyfriend took that all back now. 


But Bruno didn't, and knew all too well how bad arguments made the function of the team, and definitely didn't expect it from Mista or Giorno. Abbacchio was moody and cold when it came to anyone other than Bucciarati, which always built up a communication barrier between them that often ended in some kind of argument, Abbacchio crying, and then Bruno having to comfort him for the rest of the night. Not just as his boss, but as his friend Bruno wanted the two of them to put aside their issues and talk it through, and more importantly find out what the actual problem was. No matter how mature he pretended to be, Bucciarati was always a sucker for gossip. 


Narancia was too busy to notice as he scratched his head at the maths book in front of him while Fugo watched over his shoulder with a smug look on his face. Even though Narancia had gotten his education now, and even took time out of his own days off to tutor uneducated children in the neighbourhood, Fugo's academic ability could never be matched, and a small disappointed face of defeat tainted him as he shook his head, giving up. With a grunt, Narancia presented a 5,000 Lire bill to Fugo, and without a second thought the younger man snatched it up with a smug look across his face, uttering the words "easy money" just to tease his friend even more. 


"Missssstttaaaa!" Number five appeared out from from his owners cap and sat on the top of his head with tears in his eyes and a hint of upset in his voice. 

"I'm hungry! Number three won't share! He keeps stealing my salami!", the stand whined in between hiccups, wiping his eyes. 


When Mista didn't respond, number five tried again, this time with more urgency in his voice, rubbing his owners hat to get his attention. 

"Mistaaaa Im h-" 

But before the tiny stand could finish his imploring, Mista's hand came crashing down to the table out of rage as a way to silence him, and the way he spoke with so much venom in his voice made number fives usual sniffle turn into full blown sobbing, almost like a child being scolded by their father. 

"I told you to stop your stupid whining and eat your goddamned food!"  

If the others weren't paying attention, they definitely were now as it was rare to hear Mista even slightly annoyed, let alone so enraged he'd snap at his own stand in such a malicious way. All the cups and plates on the table rattled together and threatened to smash at the sudden impact of the mans fist meeting the wooden top, and even Giorno looked over, but with more disgust than shock. They'd had an argument, and he needed to apologise first, and he wasn't sure what taking out in his stand who had done nothing wrong in the first place would do apart from disturb everyone else. No one spoke for a moment, only looking over at Mista in disbelief before Abbacchio's broke the silence. 


"We were having a good morning here!" He shouted, shooting a glare towards the man beside him, number five still sat crying on top of his hat. 

Mista's face scrunched up and his hands clenched, opening his mouth as if he were about to argue back, but before he could get a word in Abbacchio spoke up again, putting more force into his words to remind just exactly who he was talking to, and not just as colleagues, as Mista's power outweighed his as Giorno's personal bodyguard, but as his elder, and more wiser, older friend. 

"I don't know what exactly your issue is-or Giorno's for that matter, but don't come in here, and make it everyone else's problem!" 

Giorno looked towards Abbacchio in confusion, as if he hadn't stormed in earlier this morning like it was the last thing he'd do and made his anger apparent, but he knew deep down what the older man was saying was true. And so did Mista as he bit his lip and looked away in embarrassment after being publicly called out about something so personal. But just like Giorno, he wasn't stupid, and knew what Abbacchio was saying was true, and probably for the best. Mista always wanted to live a laid back life with a nice, steady relationship, and right now he was doing the exact opposite by letting the argument carry on this way. Guido reached up to the top of his hat and opened his palm so number five could jump into it, and once he felt the small bit of weight the stand carried against his skin, he brought them down to eye level. 

"Number five..." he settled with a gentler tone to catch the stands attention before carrying on. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout. You can have some more-I'll scold number three for hitting you." 


"What's actually happened?" Bruno interjected as if Giorno and Mista were at couples counselling, settling his tea back down on the table and looking over at them both with a worried look in his eyes. Truth be told, neither of them had the gall to admit as they both blushed, but both for different reasons. 


After the argument the morning before, Giorno stood up and found his shorts, pulling them on over his erection and uncomfortably waddled to the bathroom, failing to pay any notice to Mista calling after him, mainly because he knew what Guido was saying was true. He hadn't done anything wrong but slam his hips too hard against the hardwood floor just as they were about to get down to business, completely throwing Giorno off and ruining his mood. And after he had been inconsiderate enough the night before to sink his fangs into Mista's neck after a hard days work and drank from him until the taste became sickly in his mouth, the boy probably should've cut Mista some slack. To put it bluntly, Giorno, at this point, was too far gone, and had acted like a brat for no apparent reason, for something so stupid, and now felt inclined to carry on that way. He hated useless things, and how he was acting seemed pretty pointless to him, but his own stubborn attitude got in the way, and to avoid hurting whatever pride he had felt after begging on the floor for his boyfriend, he had to continue acting this way. 


Mista stayed in the living room, all the more confused by his actions as he heard the door lock to the bathroom as Giorno meant against the sink, looking down at his erection. Touching himself wasn't enough anymore for him-he needed Mista to take care of him, but a moments relapse in maturity had taken away that opportunity. He had, in vulgar terms 'absolutely fucked it', because he was too horny to think rationally, and pulled down his bottoms to realise his dick that was still semi hard from his confinements. If he recalled correctly, he had left his phone in the bathroom after his shower and was ultimately relieved when he saw it sat waiting patiently next to the shower. Just had he thought before, Giorno could see Mista's dick whenever he wanted due to the abundance of pictures on his phone that he'd saved whenever they were apart from each other and needed some extra special attention, and shakily unlocked his phone. He clicked onto photos and scrolled past all of the pristine sunsets and freshly blossomed flowers he had taken pictures of to admire later, and found what he had been trying to hide so desperately on his phone, but all he actually cared about on there apart from a few phone numbers. His nude collection of Mista, or just Mista collection to be more direct, as some of them pictures just happened to be his face-not that Giorno was complaining. 


Mista's face was so delicate yet rugged, and the way the prickly stubble he had yet to shave adorned his face made the boys cheeks hot. His olive skin matched perfectly with his deep, dark eyes you could get lost in if you looked long enough, and if Giorno thought back to it, he could picture the exact way his hazel coloured eyes fluttered as he came inside  Giorno. It had only happened a handful of times, but the sight was so heavily to the boy that he could hardly forget it, and probably never would. His tanned skin glistened with sweat in the gentle sunlight that peered through their bedroom blinds as they made love in the morning, like the way the ocean did on a hot summers day. His chocolate brown curls stuck to his sweaty forehead, and bounced gently on his head with thrust he made with his hips, making Giorno whine in desperation. Mista's moans were more like groans that sounded like music to Giorno's ears as they were low and guttural like a growl, almost as if Mista was trying to hold back something more animalistic. 


The boy shuddered at the thought as he reached his hand up to his mouth, and quietly spat in his palm just as Mista had done before. He wanted to touch himself to some of his stress, but jerking himself off alone seemed futile at this point. It had been months since both men had made love to one another, and the want to be in Mista's arms as he pounded into him was becoming more of a need at this point. 


From the morning when the boy had gone in there angrily, to early afternoon when the door finally unlocked quietly as he guiltily slid out from behind the thin bathroom door, Giorno had used his slender fingers to stretch himself out with his fingers, two hardly being thick or long enough, and three being too painful, and stung as he thrusted them. Either way, he'd never done this alone before, or even fingered himself for that matter, as he only ever stuck to touching his dick when he masturbated. It was nothing compared to Mista sliding into him delicately, and grabbing at his nimble hips as he drove into his lover, grunting each time, but waves of pleasure still consumed him as his fingers hit his prostate. 


Each time he hit it, it drove him even further over the edge, to the point that their wasn't one anymore, as he fell into the depths of pleasure, feeling all the more better with each thrust of his fingers. Giorno furrowed his brows in frustration, as he never knew something to feel so electrifying but so underwhelming at the same time if that was possible, as his play wasn't enough to get him off alone. He spat in his hand once more to work as makeshift lube and lowered it to his hard dick that had been rubbing against the side of the sink as his hips began to ride his own fingers like a desperate Slut. As soon as his hand came into contact with his dick, he whined as he realised how hard it was to stretch his hands in two different directions, one thrusting deep into his ass, and the other jerking himself off. Even so, he tried to focus fiction between his hand and dick as he stroked himself, focusing mainly on the tip, rubbing his thumb gently over the sensitive area. 


If Mista were here, there'd be an extra pair of hands that he could find use for, and in the heat of nearing his orgasm Giorno tried to imagine how his boyfriends cool fingertips would travel across his burning hot skin. Mista always liked to tease, so no doubt his lithe fingers would wrap around the base of true boys cock as he whined, and his breath, hot and gentle against his neck as he spoke, asking him to beg. Giorno got whinier as he imagined his lover's, low, gruff voice as he was intoxicated by lust, opening his eyes slightly to look at himself in the mirror. 


His face felt as if it was on fire to the point Giorno wanted to scream, and his cheeks showed that as they flushed a deep, sweaty red when he looked back at himself in the mirror. Giorno didn't see himself as narcissistic by any means, but weirdly enough after staring at himself, so hot and flustered before he was about to cum made him realise why Mista got so worked up. His eyes, half lidded, were glazed over with such intense wanton desire that they could barely see what was in front of them, and his mouth hung open as if a screw had come loose in his jaw, letting intangible moans of pleasure fall from his lips. Giorno golden locks were messy and unkempt after his time with Mista, and the three sculpted curls that adorned his forehead were stuck to him with sweat. He was well and truly a mess, and all at his own expense as Mista could've treated him ten times better with his own skills in the bedroom if the boy hadn't been so petty. Giorno quickly pushed the distracting thought to the side and quickened the pacing of his hand that touched his dick, all the while still plunging his fingers deep into his ass, trying desperately again to hit his prostate. 


He cried out in frustration as he felt his orgasm nearing, not being able to find the sensitive spot inside of himself as his mind went blank, eyes scrunching shut as his cum decorated the bathroom mirror and sink. The boy let out a strangled moan, having no care whether or not Mista had heard that in the moment, barely finding the strength to still move his fingers. With one last shudder of sensitivity, Giorno stroked the tip of his cock a few more times, making sure he had gotten all he could out of his orgasm as small drips of cum pooled in his hand still wrapped around his dick. His breaths were shallow and erratic, and as his mind came back to its senses he realised Mista had definitely heard. Giorno wasn't sure how he felt about that knowing they had just argued about similar things. 


When Giorno got to the kitchen, wondering if Mista was still sat in the living room watching the rest of his film in a mood, his curiosity was satisfied as he found his boyfriend sat at the dining table quietly cleaning out his gun with the help of his stand. Mista didn't look back or ask how Giorno was, but ignored his presence as if he wasn't there at all. And thus marked the start of Guido Mista's silent treatment. 


How were either of them meant to admit to that? That they were ignoring one another because Giorno was petty and felt the need to carry on some half-baked grudge, and Mista was confused as to what he'd done and refused to ask? Yeah right, even Narancia could handle a relationship better than the pair of them at the moment, as they both proved themselves to be ultimately childish. Giorno knew it wasn't good to let his ego get in the way of relationships, otherwise it always lead to them failing, but he couldn't help but feel so overwhelmed and for such little reason. 


Bruno brought them both back to their senses as he intruded on their thoughts once more, sounding more urgent this time. 

"What happened?" 

"Don't wanna say." Mista mumbled, playing with his hands in his laps, looking down at his thighs in embarrassment. 

When Bruno looked over at Giorno for some kind of solace, he was sorely disappointed as all he did was look away out of spite with a face of thunder. 

"Muda muda." 


Giorno had a pattern on saying that same phrase repeatedly when he was angry, or fighting for that matter, but all he showed at this current point in time was how immature he was for not even giving Bruno the benefit of a reply in Italian. Before Bucciarati could scrunch his face up in annoyance, about to implore as to why the boys anger had to be channeled at everyone but his own boyfriend, Mista interjected. 

"He said it's useless." 

At first Giorno was shocked that his partner knew as he never made any reaction to the phrase whenever he had said it before as it wasn’t a phrase he’d taught Mista, but he supposed it wouldn't be hard to find out. 


"What's useless, Giorno?" 

Bruno couldn't make sense of his bosses response, as he sighed through his nose, then replying in Japanese in the name of being immature. If anyone would know what he said, it would've been Mista, as Giorno had been teaching his boyfriend his native tongue for the last four years after he was curious about his stand cry. Everyone looked over at Mista for a translation, but the man looked more than flustered before shaking his head, refusing to. How was he meant to say that? After all this, that's what Giorno was upset about?! 


Bucciarati had almost had enough of their antics and rolled his eyes, finding the words in his throat to yell back, in a language they would all understand, hopefully coaxing an answer out of Giorno that didn't sound like gibberish. The man drew in a breath to reply, but was cut off by the intrusive sound of his phone ringing in his pocket. He knew the difference in ringtones meant it was his work phone that was ringing, and hastily took it out of his pocket and eyed the caller Id. 


"Can you maybe hold off on your domestic for a moment? We've got a hit. Trish found the stand user we're after." 


Everyone looked over, their eyes widened with shock. 


"They're dangerous."

Chapter Text

Trish eyed the stranger through her binoculars, trying hard not seem at all suspicious, and failing miserably, even if she was enveloped in the darkness of her motel room that sat across from the enemies. After months of tracking down a four-man team of stand users for the boss, Trish had finally set her sights on her hit, she didn't intend to give up. She put her phone down cautiously, still with Bruno on the other end and leaned against the windowsill, eyeing her target with suspicious eyes. Her hard work had finally paid off after what seemed like aimlessly stalking the group for an eternity (or it at least felt like one), and Trish knew If she was able to successfully carry out her bit within this mission, carefully and methodically, Giorno promised as the boss of the Passione to allow her to join team Mista, under the supervision of Fugo in Naples. Technically Fugo wasn't apart of the 'lapdog' team, but he was part of writing up reports for the Don. That was close enough for Trish. As long as she could be in familiar company, no matter how close its grasp was. 


The woman currently found herself in a small, rundown motel in Rome, which was bittersweet to say the least, as memories from years before flooded her mind and threatened to jeopardise the mission, as thoughts of your close friends nearly meeting their cold end untimely deaths isn't something you ever tend to get over. But work is work, and Trish had undoubtedly grown in the last four years, and understood this all too well. She was sure that she could say this for the whole of Team Mista, but none of them really liked killing, but it was better than a fate or being killed yourself on the street, or rotting in prison for the rest of your life. 

Giorno had given her the duty of following the four thugs around to see if they were any harm a few months back, and quickly the woman learned that their intentions were as pure as rain water that stewed in a clogged gutter for weeks. Four of them, two women and two men to be exact that managed to fall off of the radar and only catch the bosses attention when it was too late, as he had noticed a string of stand-related murders taking place in Rome. Normally, Giorno would've let the Capo that oversaw Rome handle such lowlife rookies, but after the report back from the capo entailed that these were innocent civilians being killed, with no other criminal records and often leaving families behind, the boss felt it was only right to pay them as special visit if they were caught, and finally, Trish had something to show for it. Four grown men and women, aimlessly wondering around Italy like it wasn't no one else's business, killing the innocent and having nothing to show for it. Straight up, cold-blooded kidnapping and murder, and all in the name of fun. 


"You still there?" She asked the phone until she heard Bruno's voice echo out from the other side. 

"Yeah. What're we working with here?" 


When trish heard about the stand users ability she almost let out a snort she laughed so hard, as it was almost as useful as hers most of the time at first glance, which wasn't a lot. The woman soon found out after a few trial and error fights she found herself in after joining the passione, that her ability definitely had its pros and cons. She put down her binoculars and looked over at her phone, tapping it gently to see if Bruno was still on the line. 

"Her ability." She started, hiding herself under the window while she wasn't on the look out. 

"It's called sex bomb. From the information I gathered It causes instant sexual arousal via contact with the stand and leads to irrational thoughts until contact is broken." 


The team were packing up their plates, hardly satisfied with how much of breakfast they managed to squeeze in when they all In unison shot Bruno's phone a glare that was perched in the middle of the table. Not only did Trish's sentence hardly make sense, but the idea that her stand was "dangerous" seemed to confuse them all even more. Narancia did a poor job at holding back a laugh as he began to chuckle behind the hand he slapped against his mouth, barely keeping in his amusement as Trish on the other line fell silent, trying not to join in. Fugo however chose to do just that, and first bit his bottom lip to silence himself, but ended up letting out a guilty chuckle. The two laughed together for a moment, getting lost up in the humour of it that both boys barely noticed everyone else staring at them with serious eyes, as if this was a time to be laughing. 


"What's so funny?" Abbacchio grunted out, picking up the phone off of the table and handing it to his boyfriend who straightened his suit before giving the signal for everyone to get up and leave. They all followed behind Bruno like chicks following their mother without another word, but it was obvious Abbacchio still wanted an answer despite being on the move. If it was anyone else, Fugo would've felt inclined to come back with some kind of witty comment, knowing he could outsmart anyone in his team, but something about Leone's gruff voice and stern look plastered across his face almost held his mouth shut, only letting him give a guilty shrug, his ego could regret it later but Fugo understood their mission had already begun. 


Mista seemed intrigued by the stand, and Giorno almost seemed confused as to why at first, but then remembered that his boyfriend was primarily attracted to women, and in some crude way probably thought this woman's ability was a free pass for men to act like assholes and get away with it. 

"So like what? We'll wanna have sex with her?" Mista asked shoving the cake slice he'd taken from his plate down his throat, still continuing to talk casually with his mouth full. 

"Is she ugly? Don't men wanna do that anyway?" 


If they weren't amidst a bothersome quarrel Giorno would've scolded him for such a cheeky comment, that was more than distasteful, knowing that he was trying to be funny, but instead rolled his eyes at his insolent boyfriend and stayed quiet. He walked behind Mista, and momentarily debated pushing him, hoping he'd fall flat on his face for what he'd said, but quickly pulled himself out of the thought, reminding himself that he was the boss of the passione, and realised guiltily he should be acting like it. 


There was a curve ever so gently at his lips, indicating an ever so subtle smirk that he must've held back, and Giorno only imagined the things his own boyfriend must've been thinking about doing to their enemy and shot a burning glare into the back of his neck. Giorno could read Mista by now like an open book, and the fact that his brain almost screamed 'I'm thinking about having sex with the woman I'm being paid to kill on sight!' didn't settle well with the boy as he felt a pang of jealousy prick his sides. Giorno loved his boyfriend of course, but sometimes the boy could hardly stand Guido's boisterous demeanour that he put on around his friends at times, especially since they were in the middle of a heated argument. 

As the team got outside of the restaurant the sun glared down at them angrily, bright and burning in the blue skies above. The sky was a beautiful blue, like the ocean banks during the summer, with not a single cloud to litter it. Giorno agreed that it looked gorgeous too, as if God had woken up extra early for them, to prepare an especially winsome looking sky that would surely uplift everyone's moods as the sun emitted gentle rays that looked like golden thread had been spun and sneaked past windows to let off a homely glow. Yes, Giorno agreed it was all quite handsome, and the heat it let off was like a visit from an old friend-nostalgic and calm. But the burning pain in his skin was almost unbearable as it felt like a bubbling sensation, as if a harsh chemical had been spilt all over his face and area on his chest that was exposed, and splotches of inflamed skin came up in rashes. Giorno tried to fight the urge, but couldn't stop himself from scratching the sensitive areas on his body that were exposed to the sun, Mista obviously noticing this a lot more than the others after finding out his boyfriends true nature.


Trish carried on with her explanation. 

"I'm too weak to capture her by myself", she started, but before anyone could question as to why she thought something so outlandish she elaborated further. 

"Something tells me her ability is more than just instant sexual arousal, but instead what causes that." The woman came closer to the phone as if she was whispering in everyone's ears personally, which made it hard for everyone to hear as they all stood outside the restaurant they were just in on the pavement. 

"She's killed four people since I've been here..." 


Giorno bit his lip, disappointed in himself, as he felt as if it was his job to prevent those deaths, and while he was busy being immature about a stupid fight him and his lover were having, innocent people were loosing their lives. He mentally scolded himself for his insolent behaviour, but knew he had to keep his calm persona so no body else panicked with him, even despite the horrid burning pains on his cheeks and chest and the worry that began to pool in his conscience. He had to make a decision, and make it quick, as everyone else's well-being rested on his weary shoulders, as well as the dead people this mysterious stand user had killed and for probably no reason at all. The boy motioned for everyone to walk along side him to avoid suspicion, Bruno walking next to him with his work phone still in hand, waiting for his bosses orders. It took a moment for Giorno to feel comfortable with the distance he had made from the restaurant and any other stranger walking down the street for that matter before he began to explain the plan. He spoke in a low, grave voice that resonated authority. 


"Fugo and Narancia, you two are set to collect Trish from the motel she's currently stationed at in 30 minutes when the next train comes." 

Fugo and Narancia nodded, suddenly seeming a lot more serious about the whole situation than they were a few moments before. 

"I'll make arrangements for you to be in 1st class. You'll get off at Latina station first-wait an hour for the next train and then get on an economy-class train." 

Giorno gave a slide glance to Bruno and then looked back at Abbacchio with a smile. 

"On a back route Bucciarati and Abbacchio will take the car to Rome and wait for the signal. Once you are signalled, Abbacchio will use Moody blues to reply what happened in the enemy stands motel room to see if we can get any information out of her in the case that she needs to be killed or if she's a tough one to crack during interrogation." 

Giorno hadn't spoken so much for the last few days that organising plans was making his head throb as he placed his hand to his forehead. Abbacchio raised an eyebrow and looked scornful towards his boss, before replying in his usual monotone voice. 

"What's the signal for?" 


Giorno had to push his personal affairs to the side, and resist the urge to shoot his partner a malicious glare. This was work, and they were colleagues no matter the circumstances, and the boy couldn't risk putting everyone's life at danger over something that was fairly trivial in the grand scheme of things. In the last four years, each member of team Mista had put their blood, sweat and tears into ridding the streets of Italy of underage drug use and drinking, and now they had to be consistent in exerting their power and not mess up no matter the personal cost. Giorno carried on, making sure Trish could hear each word of what he was saying. 

"This is where me and Mista come in. If her stand relies on sexual arousal through touch, it'll be beneficial for us to go undercover to discretely abduct her for questioning as we'd be recognised as members of the Passione." 

Giorno looked over at Abbacchio and gave a nod. 

"When we call for you, you deliver with no questions asked." 


Although it wasn't in his boyfriends direction, Mista gave a nod in agreement to the plan, immediately after grabbing the handle of the gun that was tucked away in the hem of his trousers and squeezing it tightly, Giorno recognised this as something his partner did when he was nervous. The boss stopped walking, and everyone soon followed in suit as they all stared at him in question. He lifted his head up high with a grin. 

"Team Mista: it's time to disperse." 


Abbacchio and Bruno walked past the boy in confidence, both with a look in their eye that promised there would be no mistakes in their duties, and had always done so successfully. Giorno wholeheartedly trusted Bucciarati with his life, and was glad he had found someone that resembled a father figure in his life, and for that was eternally grateful. That was right, if he couldn't do this for himself, or his boyfriend that he was still displeased with at the moment, he always had to try his best...and that was for Bucciarati, as he knew his friend would do the same for him. And as well as Narancia and Fugo being slightly more childish in their ways, there was not a single ounce of worry that tainted his thoughts as he watched the two men walk away towards Naples train station. 


The air only seemed slightly uncomfortable when Mista and Giorno were left alone, but it was still tense nonetheless. Despite this the younger boy looked over, and was hesitant to grab at his lovers shoulder, but did so anyway. 


"Come on, Guido. It's time for a makeover." 




"Are you sure this is gonna suit me?" 

Mista stood unsure, looking back at himself in the mirror with his nose turned up at his own reflection, trying hard to brush off the fact that he was talking so causally with his partner despite being in the middle of a lovers tiff, but he wondered if it was for the best. The couple had to work "undercover" for this mission, and their makeshift makeovers would have to be drastic but quick, as Giorno had already sent the rest of team Mista off to complete their parts in the mission. As much fun as Giorno hated to admit playing dress up with Mista was, to say the least most of the time (when they weren't arguing), one thing became increasingly apparent to the boy, as Guido Mista was a twenty two year old man, and still hated his hair being brushed like a five year old would. 


Mista had never seen the need to take off his hat in front of his teammates, so he never had, and very quickly grew tired of their relentless jokes about him having thin and greasy hair, or none at all if they were being especially harsh. "Maybe he's already lost all of his hair like an old man!" Narancia liked to jest, which often left Mista red in the cheeks from embarrassment. "Whatever hair he has left must be thin and greasy with how religiously he keeps that hat on!", Mista could recall Fugo laughing along with his other friend, both arguably as bad as each other as they never knew when to stop their teasing about something Mista quite frankly was insecure about. Even Bucciarati had asked a few questions about Mista's "hairy situation" as he had phrased it, and Abbacchio pretended not to listen but slyly took one of his earphones out so he could ease-drop. Trish was right in saying the man was hairy, and everyone else had noticed that, so they were all childishly curious as to how the situation faired on his head, but to their disappointment never got any clear answer as Mista ran out of the libeccio feeling more than flustered. 

Even the mans boyfriend didn't know the deal with Mista's hair has he stood just behind him looking at his face in the mirror, a pair of hairdressing scissors in one hand and a hairbrush in the other, and if there was ever a time to ask, it would be now. For now, they could forget their argument, Giorno was curious and needed to know. As he brushed Guido's hair the man flinched like a child, and it became increasingly obvious that Mista must never brush his hair despite it being rather attractive, as the brush would hardly pass through the loose chocolate brown curls that hung to just below his jawline, being only slightly longer than Bruno's. It was thick on his head, but knotty, and Giorno was reminded of how bad Mista's personal hygiene was when they had first started dating, as staying well groomed and showered just seemed to be an extra chore to him, and something the man was always reluctant to do. Giorno was half tempted to whack Mista around the side of the head with the paddle brush he held in his hand whenever he whimpered at how much he hated having his messy hair brushed, but instead he striked up a conversation as if there was no rift between them at all. 


"So what's the deal with the hair?" He asked, not looking at Mista's reflection but focusing on his boyfriends hair. If he had, Giorno would've seen Mista's face look confused as he let out a small "Hm?", but then gently sighed and replied in a rather nonchalant way. 

"When I was younger mio padre never let me get it cut." 

Giorno watched the man in front of him cringe. 

"At school, all the boys would pick on me for looking like a girl...I grew to hate how it looked, and I never wanted anyone to ever make fun of it again." 

Mista scoffed and almost seemed sad at their teasing all these years later. 

"I started wearing a hat to cover it in primary school, and no one asked. When Fugo and Narancia make fun of me for it-I just get pissed off man." 


Giorno nodded silently, understanding all too well what Mista had felt like all those years ago about his hair as he waved the scissors at his boyfriend in the mirror, making Guido gulp. Time for a new look. When Giorno's hair had turned blonde due to his biological fathers genes it was strange for everyone involved, but mainly Giorno, as he didn't know if that was biologically possible for that to happen, and it probably wasn't. His step father had the biggest issue with it, constantly poking fun at him for "dyeing it like a girl would", Giorno straight away defending himself with the actual truth, all the while Giorno's mother staying quiet. She knew the truth. He was indeed Dio's son and now had something to show for it. But she kept quiet, after all, her husband now would never be Dio, and despite the mysterious man that dwelled in the depths of Egypt nightlife, she knew he was probably dead, and failed to reciprocate her feelings towards him. Boys at school would laugh, and the girls would constantly ask to touch his hair, which was when Giorno suddenly wished he hadn't any hair at all. A small pet peeve sooner turned into a strong hatred to the point he failed to let even professional hairdressers near him, and after awhile, it grew long enough to sit at his shoulders, which was when he decided to plait it. 


"I understand", Giorno replied, snipping away chunks of Mista's hair methodically, brown curls falling to the bathroom floor. To be frank, Mista already looked so different without his hat on, it wouldn't of been hard for him to go undercover in just a simple change of clothes, but a small part of Giorno had always wanted to do this, and wished to be extra careful. Mista had shut his eyes by now, scared of what his boyfriend was doing to his hair as Giorno giggled, happy with his progress, and it didn't take long for him to step down off of the chair he stood on and walked around to Mista's front, checking out his work. With one quick observation, he tapped Mista's cheek with hand, urging him to open his eyes, and when he did, he thought they'd fall out of his sockets they were so wide with shock. 


A mullet. Giorno had cut Mista a mullet, and with a fringe to top it all off. But it was 2021, who didn't love a mullet?! At least that's what Giorno thought anyway, as he liked to think he was a Suave nineteen year old that kept up with recent and more popular trends on the internet. Mista-well he wasn't so sure as he stood motionless in the mirror for what seemed like years before he smacked his hand to his mouth, whether it was out of horror or content Giorno wasn't sure. The man shook his head to mess up his hair a little, admiring how short it looked on the sides compared to the long mullet at the back. One part of Mista was impressed at Giorno's hairdressing skills, but the other part of him felt uncomfortable at the thought of having to go inside with his hair on full show, as the boy that stood next to him with a smug look on his face was the only one he felt comfortable showing his hair to. Mista had to pull his focus away from his hair before he had some kind of nervous breakdown over it, and with that thought turned on the balls of his heels towards GioGio. 


"Your turn, Gio!" He said in an almost sing-song tone of voice, excited to get his own back on his boyfriend for giving him such an outdated haircut, almost forgetting he was meant to be annoyed at him for a reason both men had forgotten along with this morning's breakfast. But Giorno stepped back, and looked his boyfriend up and down with a frown plastered across his face, as if to say 'don't even try it', and as a matter of fact, he did just that. 


"What're you doing?" He said calmly, a disgusted look on his face. 

"Don't even try it mate." 


Mista frowned and reached for the scissors in Giorno's hand, but failed to grab them as the boy stepped back so they were just out of his reach and stuffed them in his suit pocket as he turned around to look in the cupboard underneath the sink, and quickly found what he was looking for. 


The boy pulled a brown wig from a box that had been tucked away along with what appeared to be a pair of contact lenses. Mista didn't understand why he knew, but it felt personal to Giorno, nostalgic even as if it were from his past. And to Mista's own surprise, it was, as the only words that left his boyfriend's mouth were low and gentle, as if he were ashamed to utter this persons name in fear he'd summon them. 


"I can't be Giorno Giovanna. But I can be Haruno Shinobana."



Chapter Text

Haruno Shinobana wasn't supposed to die. But it happened, and as it stands, he could rot for all Giorno cared. His alter ego was taken at the tender age of four, and with that in mind there wasn't much to remember. He was always so scared, and just another burden lumped onto his mother by a man he'd never meet, that didn't care for him either way. He was frail and small, and cowered in the corner of his cot at night, wanting to beg for his mother's love but never did. One thing he could thank Haruno for was his hatred for useless things, as he already knew back then that it was useless to call for his mother. He could shout all he liked, she'd never turn to look at him. Such a poor, sweet thing. Hadn't he been through enough? Didnt he deserve to forget his mother's treatment for awhile? Forget her cruelty? Her kindness? But that was all Haruno Shinobana understood, and would ever know-it had already been fated when his fathers name was Dio. The boy didn't know where love started, and violence ended, and for awhile, wished his mother would ignore him again when she pretended to be a loving mother, as it was better than her talking down to him, belittling him at every chance. 


Haruno's mother often reminded him that he was just like his father, and what that meant he was never sure, as the stories the boys mother told him about Dio had been filled with love end admiration. Haruno's mother felt nothing for him as far as he was concerned, let alone any kind of tender care. But he one day found out just what she had meant. Both Haruno and Dio had taken something from her, and replaced it with a burden despite them being different things. The man she loved was a bitter mule, unforgiving and cold, and when he could not give her love, he took her blood and repaid her with quick sex and a son. And this son-well-If she even wanted for call Haruno that, gave her a constant reminder of her failed love, and took everything to her freedom, money, and the one chance at the life she wanted to live. His mother, twisted with a bitter rage seemed to make it her mission to prove Haruno otherwise, even though he had nothing he was really trying to prove but his love for her, and did everything she would've never been able to do with a son. She went out, and left poor Haruno Shinobana alone and palely loitering, bringing home one-sided affairs she knew would lead to nothing in the end. Haruno often wondered what a good man looked like, and as he got older he supposed it was Dio. 


Even at four Haruno knew his mother didn't love his own father, and when he was alone with him he very often understood why, for the gentle hand that fed was the harsh hand that would smack Haruno until he felt dizzy. That was the year Haruno moved to Italy. The year Dio died along with his frail son Haruno. Like father like son. Haruno was never sure how his mother found out Dio was dead, but the boy almost knew without her having to tell him. All together Haruno's mother stopped returning home, or when she did, she tried to avoid her own son out of fear of seeing Dio behind his eyes, and without her there he had no one to stop the hand that beat him. So without trying, Dio had been there as a father, but only to coax everyone else around him to ruin him as a person. After all, a son would've been nothing but a burden to Dio, and Haruno's mother would agree.


And with that, Haruno Shinobana became Haruno Giovanna. One step closer to humanity. In a final push, he achieved it. Haruno died. For Giorno's sake. Haruno did not bite the hand that fed him, nor did he scold that same hand for beating him, so once he was Giorno, he made sure to wrap his lips around it, and suck off all the meat. So when Giorno stared back at that very boy he had happily let die due to the mistreatment of those around him once again in the mirror he felt thankful, for if Haruno hadn't rotted beneath him, he could've never stood where he did now with his lover at his arm. And he was happy, and in a strange sense, hoped Haruno was too for the man he became. He thanked him for that. 


"You ready sugarplum?" 

Giorno looked back at his boyfriend and back to the mirror. 

"Fuck yeah I am."



Mista didn't know of Haruno Shinobana, and was quite frankly happy he didn't for his story made him sick to his stomach. All he had done was change his hair, and layered on a pair of greyish green contact lenses, but the boy already looked frail, as if he could snap under the tiniest amount of pressure. Giorno spoke so calmly about it, as if describing how the sky was in fact blue or that the day was a Monday morning in September. It was so matter-of-factly that Mista worried for the part of his boyfriend's mind that considered that to be normal treatment for a child to go through, and then realised exactly just why he'd probably felt so passionate about justice. Because as far as he was concerned, that word was a stranger to him.


The two men walked calmly through a town In Rome, trying their best to look unbothered about their new looks, and tried even harder to look like they were undercover in the first place. Mista fiddled with the stay strands from mullet that hung over his shoulder, giving a small moan of uncertainty at the fact his hair was on full show, and Giorno tried his hardest to avoid looking at anything that would show his reflection, for the look of Haruno made him feel weak, and almost angry at times. Why had Haruno been so useless? 

Mista wore a pair of high-waisted grey jeans that were cuffed at his ankles, revealing his white and black stripped socks. His trousers were so disgustingly tight he'd had to pretend he couldn't see girls gawk at the obvious outline of his dick in what he wore as they walked past, and had even caught Giorno looking down when he wasn't supposed to. He wore a pair of black, ankle-cut Dr Martens with cherry red laces, that is complimented his crimson coloured turtleneck. To finish off the look, Mista wore a vintage, black leather jacket Giorno had assumed he had from before he joined the Passione that he had stitched a few personalised badges into.

One badge was simply the initials 'SP', Giorno guessed meant 'sex pistols', and the other was on his left breast pocket, that looked similar to the arrow he wore on his cap. 



Giorno-or Haruno wore a simple collared blue shirt, and regular jeans that sat loosely at his waist and hung down to the middle of his shins, as the boy had evidently grown since he last wore them, and the very feeling of the outfit made him feel lame. So far all the men had managed to achieve was look like the scrawny foreign exchange student being forcibly paired with the bad boy biker that hardly knew what the word 'school' meant was on a school project, and were admittedly sticking out like sore thumbs. But nonetheless, their real identities were hidden well, and any intel the enemy might've had on them as the leader of the passione and his loyal body guard was washed away wirh their new demeanours.


Something tense hung in the air as the two men walked through the town. Giorno deduced it was the tension left over from their own personal affairs, but Mista wasn't soo sure. Trish had told them that the enemies stand was called 'sex bomb', and had the ability to sexually control you, which in a mental sense sounded terrifying to the both of them (not like they admitted it), and the woman had tried to target the weakest member of the enemy team first. All the men had to do was get close enough for Mista's sex pistols, and it was smooth sailing, but something in Giorno's gut told him it wouldn't go that simply. At most, they'd have to stay the night in Rome, which neither of them really wanted to do, but understood for the job it might've been necessary. Rome was nothing but bad memories and bitter ends for the both of them, and the tense feeling in the air didn't help. 



The incessant cries of Mista's stand ripped both of the men from thoughts as they looked towards the six almost childlike creatures, trying hard to not look like they were staring at nothing. 

"It's lunchtime!" Seven chimed. 

"We're hungry!" Five whined through a sob. 


Mista rolled his eyes at his stands antics, wishing now more than ever that he possessed the ability to manifest his stand when he wanted, and vice versa. Of course, if anyone was going to have a stand that called for more maintenance compared to any other, including the need to feed his stand after they developed such strong personalities, and can even summon themselves, it would’ve been Mista. Giorno often wondered if Mista already had his stand ability before he underwent the arrow test to get into the Passione based off of the way he described his experience just before he was imprisoned, and was often concerned whenever his stand acted in such a rambunctious way. If Sex Pistols was a direct manifestation of his fighting ability and soul, Giorno was scared as to what was going on in Mista's mind. 


"Pack it in you lot!" Mista scolded them through his teeth, looking around in the process to make sure no one could see him shouting seemingly at nothing. If the stand user they were on the hunt for saw them, they could probably guess Mista and Giorno were stand users, and that was not a risk either of them were willing to take. Of course, if any stand was going to act up, it would be Guidos. 

"Shut them up will you?" Giorno snapped at Mista, lightly slapping his arm in response, still not forgetting he was annoyed at him. What was it for again? He couldn't remember anymore. 

"Gio, sorry, but can we stop off somewhere to eat?" 

Giorno rolled his eyes and imitated Mista's voice  "lunchtime is meant for lunchtime". 


With a hesitant sigh through his nose, Giorno nodded with a small "sure", that made Mista's pistols cry out with glee. It was like tending to a child Giorno had thought, but whether or not he meant Mista or his stand he wasn't sure, as his boyfriend could act rather distasteful at times, just like he had done earlier with his snide comment. The enemy stand user probably wouldn't expect the two most powerful men in the Italian mafia to scrap an important mission for a cup of coffee and sandwich at a local café, so in a way the Pistols had done both men a favour. It had got them talking again, which was more than earlier as they'd spent the whole journey to Rome in silence after their setback. It was weighing down on the efficiency of their mission, and both men blatantly knew this was an issue. They needed to smooth things out before either of them exploded in rage, and maybe it was best to do so over a coffee. 

"What about that one?" Mista pointed out, nodding towards a café just to the right of them that sat in between two empty houses. With a quick observation Giorno agreed, heading over towards the shop with his boyfriend's whose stand had finally shut up and waited patiently for their meal. It seemed like a family-owned café, with a small inside, only having three or four tables for customers, and a homely kind of atmosphere that hung in the air. It reminded Giorno of when he was a student, and how he'd often spend his time at café's escaping the swarm of girls that would find him at lunch and ask about his day. School was so different to his home life, and in ways was happy that his parents had sent him away to a boarding school. It was like a fresh start for him. No one knew who Haruno Shinobana was there, so they couldn't ask, or ever see him as the weak and feeble person he once was. So now that he was Haruno again, he couldn't help but cling to his boyfriends coat. 


When the barrister had noticed the two walk in, them being the only customers at the time, he quickly came over, a fake smile plastered across his face that screamed 'I work in customer retail everyday and no longer know what a genuine smile looks like!'. When Giorno noticed his staring, he let go of Mista's coat and cleared his throat. 

"Could we have a table?" 

An awkward glance was shared between the three men before the shop owner nodded enthusiastically, offering them a table at the far back, close to the counter. Mista was yet to say anything and simply nodded in appreciation. 

"I didn't catch your names?" The shop wonder asked as the two men were seated, which struck Giorno as odd, but he played along, speaking before Mista could incase he was stupid enough to use his actual name instead of an alias. 

"Haruno. And this is Diego." He said with a smile, hoping it would satisfy the strangers curiosity, but to no avail. The shop owner placed down two menus he had been holding onto, and awkwardly stood beside Mista. The stranger looked innocent enough. An old, frail man in what looked like lounge-wear and an apron slapped over the top. 


"Uh I'll have a glass of Brunello please" Mista said with a smile, carrying on before Giorno could answer.  

"And a seafood risotto please. The boy will have an orange juice with some gelato." 


Giorno rolled his eyes and hid his smirk under his hand, trying to stay annoyed at his boyfriend but wanting to smile at the fact Mista knew his exact order whenever they ate out somewhere. Mista would stuff his face-eat until his heart was content, and Giorno would sit idly and appreciate his company calmly eating his gelato. The shop keeper nodded, writing down their orders on the notepad he had pulled from his pocket and walked to the back kitchen, presumably to tell the cooks their order. For now, the boys were alone. 


"Why'd you cover your face?" Mista questioned.

"I didn't." 

"Babe. I know you did." 

Giorno rolled his eyes, but couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed at his boyfriend. 

"And what if I did huh?" 


Mista put his thumb to his chin for a moment in thought before smirking, thinking of answer. His tone had suddenly changed from his usual upbeat voice to a low, gruff one. 

"Then that would mean you lied to me. I don't take kindly to being lied to." 


Neither of the men knew what was happening. One moment the both of them were in the middle of a domestic spat, hardly making conversation, and when it was it was strained, to teasing each other, asking such trivial questions in hope it would provoke one another. It reminded Giorno of how they were normally, how they were when they were hungry, but not for food, and it made a smirk pull at his lips. Surely this amount of teasing wouldn't get in the way of the mission, right? So, for now, while the shop keeper was busy, adverting his gaze from the two men, they'd go along with their teasing. When the cats are away the mice will play. 



While Giorno and Mista were busy with each other, Trish sat impatiently waiting for a phone call from her boss, explaining that they'd taken down their target, and she was allowed to work under Fugo for completing such an important mission. That was what Trish wanted to hear, yet as she eyed her phone, unlocking it just incase she had missed anything, but rage bubbled up inside her as she found no notifications. She needed to tell Giorno something, but contacting him first could’ve jeopardised the mission incase it got the two men caught. She had found out a key theme to the enemy stand users power. One that changed the whole severity of the mission all together, for their power was a lot more complicated then it had originally seemed. If they weren't careful, both men would easily fall into its trap without ever knowing. 


Sex bomb didn't sexually controlled whoever it touched. It controlled the hormones in your body from a long distance. And as it stood, both men had already fallen victim to it. Let the games begin.

Chapter Text

" 'Sex Bomb': has the ability to control hormones within the body. It just so happens that the easiest hormone to control in the body is adrenaline and hormones that are already primarily in the body. 

So for example, if the body has elevated levels of adrenaline and cortisol which are caused by anger, the stand user can make the individual irrationally angry by adding more of the hormone. 

If the body has high levels of testosterone, it may lead to aggression, headaches, heart issues, and a high sex drive. One drawback of this stand ability is the users inability to control what hormone is elevated, but the one that is most present in the body at the time of attack." 


Trish tapped her phone to see if Bruno was still listening on the other line, which he was, listening intently through the phone as he carried on driving through the long, windy backroads of Italy that would slowly lead to Rome. Admittedly, both the men had been given the most mellow job of them all, as Giorno was still weary with worry at times at how direct action effected their wounds. Bruno and Abbacchio had both been injured in similar ways, yet gold experience was able to fix some of the more severe things in Bruno's body, and unfortunately not in Abbacchio's as they had found him much later. As it stood Bruno had to have a liver transplant, a lung transplant and multiple blood transfusions, which resulted in an array of medications for him to take, and a terrible pain in his stomach that sometimes woke him up. On a much more dire note, Abbacchio's physical state was a lot worse than his boyfriends, with only one kidney, one lung, two missing ribs and spinal cord damage. Sometimes the pain grew all too much, and leone would snap at anyone who dared to talk to him, and it definitely wasn't as enjoyable when he was moody because of an actual reason instead of just because he felt like it. Narancia had multiple entry wounds scattered all over his body from being impaled on metal bars, but as if he had used up all of his luck, the rods managed to miss every single one of his vital organs, only leaving him a little rusty with strong painkillers to take. Giorno had paid for the most expensive and effective treatment in the whole of Europe, yet some things just could not be erased, not with all the money and hope in the world. Hence why they had been given the boring job. 


"And with this information, can we deduce how her four victims died?" Bruno asked Trish, desperate to get to the bottom of the case. 


"Elevated levels of adrenaline in the body can in rare cases, even without a stands power cause death. In sum: the easiest way to phrase it is that the victims would be been 'scared to death.' Due to the hormone that overwhelmed their body."  Trish replied, confident in herself now. If the stand ability was only able to control someone sexually with direct contact, it would've been hard to kill them without making a mess, as the individual would've still had a limited amount of free will no matter how sexually turned on. As Trish had eyed the motel window the enemy sat in, and there was no bloodshed or signs of a struggle from a victim. They truly had been scared half to death, and then fully to death without even realising, or if they did, it was only when it was too late. 


"Have you told the boss?" 

Bruno ripped Trish from her thoughts, the woman shaking her head at the phone but then remembering they wouldn't be able to see it. It had been around an hour since Giorno had contacted Trish and updated her on their location or asking if the stand user was still at her original post, which she was. Mista never gave his number to Trish even if it was just their work phones surprisingly, but the man always managed to break his during missions, so she supposed that was why. How different he was in comparison to when she first met Mista, trying to cop a feel or stare down her bra. She cleared her throat and carried on, panic obviously evident in her voice. 

"He hasn't contacted me...", she gulped. 

"I'm worried, Bucciarati. I can see the enemy on the phone now..." 


Bruno looked away from his phone, and Abbacchio pretended not to hear, as anxiety began to set in for all three of them. Ever since their gruelling mission to Rome a few years prior that nearly costed all of them their lives multiple times, the team never liked splitting up on missions, yet they all knew it was needed. If one member was to even ignore their duties of updating the rest of their friends for half an hour, everyone began to worry like scared mothers awaiting their child's return at the door late at night. Giorno and Mista had the job of tracking the enemy, finding her, using force to capture her (if avoided, the Don wished for no fatalities), and take her in for questioning until she folded. Most gangs are sworn to secrecy, and Team Mista knew all too well that once you enter a gang, especially the mafia, you are unable to leave with your life. She would be a hard one to crack, but Mista was good at opening people up, even if they had the hardness of a hermit. The somewhat gentle and tender side of Mista left, and something deep inside rose to the surface of his mind. Everyone had wondered if it was the rage that Mista seemed to suppress so easily, but no one really wanted to find out. 


Giorno's phone continued to go unchecked, lonely and devoid of any attention, stuffed away in his trouser pocket as if he were trying to forget it on purpose. He felt the familiar vibration of a message buzz in his pocket, sending a strange tingling feeling through his thigh, that in that moment Giorno wished would carry on, as the sensation sent a strange wave of pleasure through his leg and up to his abdomen as a sensual heat began to pool in his cheeks, making him blush. The phone wasn't a phone anymore to Giorno. It was a toy. A toy that continued to pleasure him if he left it unchecked, so he did just that. If either of the men were in the right mindset, they would've wondered why they both saw physical stimulation more important then the mission they were currently on, but they weren't. Their minds had been clouded, and unbeknownst to them by a stand users ability. Sex bombs ability. 



The stand user could tell they were close by, she had already sent Sex Bomb to attack them after all, and so far the assassination of the two most powerful men in Italy was going as simply as a walk in the park would go. Admittedly this whole 'gang' fiasco had started off as innocent fun to her and her friends, picking up twenty bags and smoking them around the back of school a few years back, which then progressed into buying half a gram of coke every weekend to help the time that passed by seem at least even a little more enjoyable. As their lives went on, they realised what they were doing was wrong, and tried their hardest to keep others that were young and impressionable away from drugs and pointless alcohol poisoning, so how had it ended up like this? Why was Giorno Giovanna so crooked when he'd made out like that's exactly what he wished to rid the streets of Italy of? He was scum. To them at least. 


"Did you find them, Valentina?" A male voice asked through the woman's phone. Valentina smiled and sat down on the creaky motel bed that she found herself in, surrounded by four dead bodies of her latest victims. They almost looked too peaceful to be dead, as if they had drifted off to sleep after a long day at work, all unfortunately to never awaken. Valentina often wondered what she had gotten herself into whenever she took peoples lives so easily, but her one true goal meant more to her then four strangers lives. She wanted Giorno Giovanna dead, and nothing would get in her way. 

She let out a sigh of content. 

"Thanks to your stand, Sanity Falls," 

She let out a laugh that resonated nothing but pure evil. 

"They might as well of personally walked up to me and told me to kill them, babe~"


Valentina whined, laying back on the bed, hoping she could leave soon with all the satisfaction she could take as she knew it was only a matter of time before Giorno and his gunslinger bodyguard would be dead by her doing. There was something so strangely perverse in having that responsibility on her shoulders that she thought was liberating. 

"It's a shame I won't get to see Mista's handsome face though." 

The man on the other end of the phone scoffed at her  statement and replied. 

"Sure you will." 

Valentina looked towards the voice. 

"When he's dead on the floor." 


The woman smiled at the mans words but quickly looked away from the phone and up at the ceiling, trying to be realistic about the situation. 

"One drawback of sex bomb i can't control what hormone is elevated, but instead whatever hormone was more prevalent in the body at the time of being attacked." 

There was a brief silence that filled the room. 

"So depending on what Mista and Giorno were feeling, we could be here awhile." 



But Giorno and Mista weren't exactly having a terrible time. 


Mista leaned in towards Giorno's face, observing the blush that dusted across his cheeks and smiled in delight, knowing that his advances had caused the boy to become so flustered. He revealed in the fact that he could make Giorno like this, and had seemingly forgotten that they were at all angry with each other, and only wanted to carry on slowly ticking off the contents of his long list of twenty instead of getting to work with the important things of the day, like the fact they were currently undercover in hopes of finding an enemy stand user. But in Mista's mind, the feeling that had seemingly appeared from nowhere and clouded Mista's judgement was important. Two things so far had been ticked off of his list: blood and ice, but the thought of the rest made Mista's cock twitch in his disgustingly tight jeans. 


What made it even better was the idea that Giorno didn't know the rest of the list, and that it's contents were always tucked away nicely in his hat, but for the sake of the mission, resided in his beast pocket, begging to be looked at. Maybe he'd show it to Giorno. Maybe he'd get his boyfriend to pick out his next sex-filled fantasy. The thought made Mista's blood rush with pure excitement. Testosterone and adrenaline. 


"You know I don't take to being lied to kindly, caro mio~" Mista purred, watching Giorno grin in delight. 

"Oh yeah? What happens if I lie, pretty boy?" 

"You don't wanna know." 

Giorno scoffed. 

"Oh but I do, pretty boy~" 

Mista leaned in more if it was possible, making a point of lowering his tone. 

"You don't." 

Giorno had got him to bite the bait. 

"Sounds like you can't think of anything creative to say, babe."

Time to reel him in. 

"I thought with your little list of twenty you'd be able to do better than that." 


Mista's expression changed from a dominant stare to something more gravely sinister. As if up until this point in his mind he was a playing a character: Diego and his domineering ways that wouldn't have Haruno speak out of term like some sort of beaten housewife, which he emulated to some extent. It was a game of cat and mouse that had no set winner, but was being played for the adrenaline the mouse felt when the cats claws grazed the side of his cheek. Haruno was scrawny and forgettable, unlike Giorno who had already proven his strength when he killed Diavolo, or when his fangs sunk into the side of his boyfriends neck, so his new-found cockiness confused Mista. It was all a game to him, something he could play along with, saying all sorts of vulgar threats that would lead to nothing but flushed cheeks and half-hard cocks, but Haruno's chiding had pushed him over the edge, and seemingly something in the air as he felt his band of rational thinking snap. This wasn't just dirty talk now, this was about proving that he was above Haruno, and not something to be made fun of. 

Giorno anticipated Mista's presumably rough treatment that followed eagerly, yet he didn't expect to be grabbed by the wrist and pulled out of restaurant, even before they'd been served their drinks. If Mista wanted to be forceful, and tick off the third kink from his list, Giorno would play along, yet dubcon was something he'd never dreamt of doing. But something about the way his boyfriend pulled at his wrist as he guided him down the concrete jungle that was the maze of back alleys behind the restaurant made Giorno feel flustered. 

They found a back alley that looked secluded enough, but at this point both men didn't care about getting caught, and would happily let any strangers that were caught off guard watch for all they cared. It didn't take long for Mista's grip on Giorno's wrist to loosen, only to allow him to push the boy against the dirty wall behind him. Giorno had already gotten into the little lust-induced role play-if thats what you wanted call it, and intended to keep up his act. Haruno Shinobana was good at being powerless. 


"Let me go." Giorno said blandly, standing still against the wall. 

"Come on~~" Mista cooed, 

"You can do better than that babycakes~" 

Giorno blushed at the cheesy nickname, determined to please the man in front of him. He tugged his arm away from Mista's grip but to no avail and painted a disgusted expression across him face. 

"I said let me go you creep!" 


Mista looked away, tongue in cheek and scuffed his shoe against the floor, kissing his teeth as a sign of disapproval that made Giorno suddenly nervous. He wondered if he had done anything wrong. Giorno was about to ask if he had, a slightly more genuine look of worry across his face when he heard the click of Mista's revolver being cocked. The man wasn't sure when Mista's had slipped the gun from his trousers, but the sudden feeling of the cold, unforgiving barrel against the side of his head sent a shockwave of pleasure mixed with fear through his veins. If this was any other time, Giorno would've liked to be spoken to about this play beforehand with Mista, but this wasn't any other time, and if the stand ability didn't have the power to render their rational thoughts useless, Mista would've agreed. The look of Giorno's face changed from a somewhat performative frown to a real sense of concern as the gun was already cocked. 'Makes it easier to kill people without thinking', Mista had said once to Giorno with a laugh, but the man was never sure why his boyfriend had chuckled, for what he had said was completely true. He did use his gun to kill people, and Mista didn't like to think about a lot of things. 

"Ah, ah, ah, sugarplum," Mista jested, looking Giorno up and down as if he were a piece of meat hung up in a butchers shop to turn his nose up at. 

"Bitches like you don't get to have an attitude." 


Giorno bit back a grin and rolled his eyes, scoffing at the bold remark. He knew that his boyfriend had the power to easily kill him, but he wanted to push his buttons-see what he could get away with, and for how long before he really started to get roughed up by the gunslinger. All in a days work, all in a days work~ 

"Yeah I'm sure they don't." Giorno replied smoothly, spitting to the side of Mista, and almost hitting his shoe. The man didn't look up at Mista's face, but he was sure whatever he saw would be belittling. 

"2736 kilometres per hour." 

Giorno tilted his head in confusion. 


"2736 kilometres per hour. That's how fast on average one of my bullets will travel through your fucking skull if you don't learn when to shut your dirty whore mouth." 

Both men for a moment went silent. All that could be heard in the grimy alleyway that they found themselves in was distant police sirens and Mista's unsteady breathing. What Mista had said suddenly shifted the tone of the situation from innocent fun on Giorno's part, to grave danger, all at the hands of his usually loving boyfriend. Right now Mista wasn't himself; he was Diego-he was playing a character, and so was Giorno. The bad man Diego who knew no bounds and helpless Haruno Shinobana who never learnt how to say no. This was always the way it went: Giorno, no, Haruno always pushed his luck and got himself stuck in between a rock and a hard place, and was quick out of luck. Haruno bit his lip, stubborn but aware of his situation. Diego would explode in rage and he had to stop him before he did. He only knew how to beg for forgiveness, so begging he did.


"P-please..." Giorno whispered, suddenly sounding a lot more serious than before. 

"I didn't mean it..." 

"Of course you didn't fucking mean it. You never mean it. You always push it and now you have to pay pretty boy." 

Mista's hand stayed firm on on the handle of his gun, his index finger hovering over the trigger, every so often the tip brushing against it, making a threat at Giorno's life each time. 

"D-don't say them things..." Haruno shook his head, a quivering lip and sad glint in his eyes making Mista all the more cocky. 

"You don't mean that!" 


Mista scoffed and replied sarcastically. 

"You're right. I don't. Now suck on the barrel of my gun so I can see how good you'd be at sucking my dick."  

Giorno didn't have time to register what Mista has said before the barrel of his boyfriends revolver was prodding his lips, waiting for him to oblige and open them. Yet Haruno was true to his character and shook his head, refusing Mista's advances but secretly hoping he'd carry on. Truth be told, Giorno had never actually tried to give oral sex, as him and Mista had been together for around seven months beforehand, and up until recently, hadn't dabbled in anything other than bland vanilla, missionary sex. Giorno would lay on his back, and let Mista grind his cock into him until he came, and although the pleasure sometimes overwhelmed him, it never progressed much past that. Mista had been holding himself back, and although there were a few telltale signs, Giorno had always ignored them. Part of him was playing a character: Haruno. But Giorno's own insecurities bubbled up inside him, as he was worried his skills wouldn't be good enough to please his boyfriend. 


Before he could willingly open his lips, Mista's other hand grabbed at his jaw, pushing his index and thumb into the sides of his cheeks, forcing his mouth open with a yelp. Giorno's voice was muffled by the revolver suddenly pushed past his lips and into his mouth, making Mista smirk. 

"That's right baby, take it all into your mouth. Imagine it's my cock." 


Giorno let out a nervous whimper around the metal in his mouth, scared that he'd do something wrong and began to circle his tongue gently over the cold material of the revolver, imagining it was the tip of Mista's dick in the process. He wasn't sure what was right or wrong in this situation, and even after watching copious amounts of porn while Mista was away on business or taking care of other trivial things that meant he'd be away from the house, the feeling was completely different when it actually came to it. When you watch porn, it's easy enough to look at what the actors are doing and say 'I could do that' or 'I'd be into that', but when Giorno really did find himself pressed against the wall of a dingy, half crumbled building in a grimy back alley, the feeling changed. He liked it even more than he expected, and he wasn't sure why. He made up the actions as he went along, letting Mista stuff his jaw while he sucked on it, watching his boyfriends eyes light up in delight. But right now, they were playing with each other. He wasn't meant to be enjoying this. 


Muffled whimpers was all Giorno could manage with the head of Mista's gun in his mouth, and to please Mista's sick fantasy he was willingly playing along with, spat the gun out of his mouth. 

"The fuck?" Mista spat out, his face suddenly twisting with rage. The sudden pounding in Giorno's heart was all worth it as he felt his boyfriends hand wrap around this throat to choke him, but instead of his airways being restricted Mista's hand simply rested against his neck. Giorno was waiting for the feeling, almost willing it to happen, wanting to feel Mista's sweaty hand pressing against his throat, stopping the air flowing down his windpipe, but all boyfriend did was scoff, closing the space in between their faces. 

"Nasty little bitch, you like that huh? You want me to choke you real good so you can hardly feel my gun down your desperate throat?"

Giorno's eyes widened, half expecting Mista to give up after he spat the gun out, but satisfied he'd carried on. 

"Hell, I might even fuck you with this gun, sugarplum and get you to suck my dick like some country whore after." 

Giorno was taken back, like the words he wanted to say had slipped back down his throat again and only left him to shake like some abandoned puppy in the rain. Mista didn't seem to care, and if anything looked all the more pleased at the look of shock on Giorno's face. This seemed to be a pattern: Mista would intimidate him, and then Giorno would play it off in some cocky voice that made the other man shake with rage. Both of the men were in the mood to push their luck, their hormones almost wafting in the air, testing each other's patience. But Mista, or Diego wasn't in the mood to be played by the likes of Haruno Shinobana. 


Without asking or any prior indication, Mista fiddled with the buckle of Giorno's belt, and once it was undone pulled it from his jeans, leaving them to hang just above his pubic bone, exposing the mans pubes as the trousers he wore barely cling at his hips. Before Giorno could protest, or even ask what his boyfriend was going to do next, his trousers were pulled down to his ankles, showing off his hard dick in his boxers. 

"Thats right babycakes, you're hard for this cock huh? I'm sure you'd take this dick so well, Mm~" 


In reality, it had been months since Giorno and Mista had engaged in any kind of actual sex, let alone rough, unprepared sex without any lube in a back alley, so the man would've been lying if he said worry hadn't started to spot. He could tell by the look on Mista's face he was being serious, and fully intended to take him here. Giorno shook his head. 


"It's Diego." 

"D-Diego Sir, I-i can't..." 

Mista scoffed and looked Giorno dead in the eye. 

"Of course you can puddin'. You don't really have a choice either," he finished with a smile, sending a chill down Giorno's spine. 

"Now pull those fucking boxers down before I rip them off of you, sweet cheeks~" 


With such a stern look in his eye and sly smile at his lips, Giorno knew Mista wasn't joking about either of those statements, and without any quarrel or questioning, the man timidly pulled down his boxers and gasped at the sudden feeling of the cool air fitting his erection. Mista whistled in appreciation as watched his boyfriends dick be released from his boxers, there being no room for denying that he was aroused by the other mans words. His dick looked painfully hard, and his pubic hair neatly trimmed, unlike Mista's unkempt and messy pubes. 

Mista waisted no time, as his hand was suddenly wrapped around the tip of his boyfriends cock, Mista collecting a gob of spit in his mouth and little it trickle down onto Giorno's dick before pulling his foreskin back. Giorno closed his eyes, trying hard to focus on the sensation of his boyfriends hand around his cock, but Mista didn't want him to enjoy himself. 

"Now unbuckle my belt baby doll, I need to get this dick in you asap." 


With a whimper, Giorno reached his shaky hand out to Mista's belt slowly, and before he could wrap his fingers around the buckle Mista pressed his hands into the belt, obviously telling him to hurry up. 

"Come on doll I know you want me bad, so fuckin' work that belt nice and good for me and maybe I won't wrap it around your throat." 

Mista's belt was soon after that unbuckled, the only sound filling the alleyway being Giorno's heavy breathing that was slowly turning into sniffles and Mista's zipper being pulled down. He quickly used his hand to steady himself against the wall, still staring into Giorno's, pulling down his trousers and boxers to his mid thigh in a hurry, as if he was communicating through his staring, telling Giorno everything he was going to do to him. Giorno was going to look down, but Mista lifted his chin with his index finger. 

"Ah, ah, baby you don't deserve to see this dick." 


The rough, dirty wall made contact with Giorno's face, algae that clung to it now sticking to his cheek as Mista's hand smushed his head against the wall as he saw a look of disgust form on his boyfriends face. To stop him from struggling, the boys hands had been pinned against the wall above his head, Mista's physical strength obviously proving to be a lot more effective in comparison to Giorno's, as any struggling was futile and only made the harsh grip on his fingers tighter. He had been turned around so his ass was more accessible to Mista. Giorno struggled against his grasp, but the jagged wall grazed his hands and face that quickly made a sob erupt from his throat. Cleanliness was something GioGio always prided himself on. Showers, baths, being enveloped in water made him feel at ease more than anything else when he had nothing. Haruno loved staying clean-it kept him away from the dirt and grime that tainted the world, so now, with his face pressed against a tarnished, crumbling wall, his ass arched out towards the man behind him...the shame threatened to swallow him whole. This wasn't Mista and Giorno anymore. This was dirty Diego and and obedient Haruno. He wanted him to carry on. 


Diego lifted the mans shirt up to expose his ass, smirking as Haruno sniffled into the wall. He aimed his mouth and spat distastefully down onto the boys ass, then spreading Haruno's legs so it dribbled onto his entrance as Diego pressed him thumb against it. 

"Sure this desperate ass won't mind if i don't prep you much yeah? I bet you're gagging for this dick." 

Haruno gulped and bit back a whimper, readying himself for the pain of being entered without any preparation, but for some reason he felt unusually calm. The man was holding back a sob his throat but everything felt right? Haruno wondered if it was something in the air, but he didn't want to think, and Mista-Diego sure as hell wasn't as his thumb slid inside of the other man, smirking as he winced. 

Judging by the way Diego handled him, Haruno knew he wasn't prepping him for the boys comfort, but his own so he could thrust in and out of his victim with ease. He hardly cared for being gentle, as Haruno whined in pain from the foreign feeling of being entered, and it seemingly wasn't getting any better as Diego fingers had hardly any lubrication to go along with them despite gobbing onto them every so often for help. For a moment Haruno wondered if there was anything left of Mista inside of the man behind him that ruthlessly used his body, but from a small side glance he managed to snatch in between his face getting shoved against the cold brick wall and a gun being held against his head, he knew Mista wasn't in control anymore. It was something deep inside Mista-Diego was in control now, and that name...'Diego', Haruno had seemed to give to his lust. Mista was drunk-no! Intoxicated by lust. 


"Of course with a condom clean up is easier," Diego started, turning Haruno's head towards him and smiling innocent, patting his cheek in the process. 

"You'll have to deal with it Puddin'." 

Before Haruno could protest, a gasp slipped out from his lips as he felt the tip of the other mans dick against his entrance, slowly pushing in past his tightness. Haruno winced due to the pain,  the feeling being all too much, and all he could muster was a broken cry as he legs shook beneath him. Diego groaned at the sensation, grabbing onto Haruno's hips as he did, lowering the gun from his head. Haruno wanted to sigh from the relief as the barrel of the mans revolver no longer pressed against the side of his head, but the pain of being entered after so many months of nothing stung far too much to be ignored. Apart from Giorno's declaration of war against Mista's list of everything kinky, the couple hadn't really viewed sex as a be-all and end-all element in their relationship, suppressing their deeper urges down into the backs of their perverse minds in fear that they'd scare one another, Mista all the more so. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling for Haruno, and if it were any other time Mista may have asked if the boy was okay, or needed time to adjust to his size, but this wasn't any other other time, as Diego's mind was rid of any clear judgement, and let his primal instincts take over. 

"This ass is so tight, baby doll, you're taking me in so nicely~" 

When the urge to sob was all Haruno could focus as he was forced against the wall with Diego getting impatient, clicking his tongue.

"Come on babe, tell me how much you want me." 

"M-Mista...I'm not-not-" 

Mista sighed in annoyance. 

"I don't know who that is baby. I'm Diego." 


Just as Haruno realised what he had meant, his eyes widening, the boy felt Diego thrust into him violently, filling him up suddenly and then dragging his dick out until only the tip was left in. When Mista was Diego, he could be as rough, and as spiteful as he wanted and still be forgiven, and when Giorno was Haruno he'd take Diego's words and his dick like the desperate bitch he was and not say a anything back like his opinion or pleas. Haruno wasn't sure just why the feeling of the pain from each thrust of Diego felt overwhelmingly good, but he didn't question it in the moment, and only felt utterly ashamed of himself when he'd hear the man groan, or make a comment on how tight he was or how well his ass was taking his cock. His words were so vulgar that they almost made Haruno cringe, but the stupid petnames- and the tone of voice Diego said them in to purposely belittle the boy made him feel disgusted in how much he wished the man would do it again. 


Diego got into a steady rhythm, his hips slapping against Haruno's ass as he thrusted into him deeper each time, pushing the boys face against the dirty wall with every movement of his hips, earning a few pathetic whines from the pain. At first, when Diego had thrusted himself into Haru initially, the boys dick had gone flaccid from the pain, but it was no painfully hard, being far away enough from the wall for it not be pressed up against it. Haru could only wince at the idea. The feeling of the wall cutting his cheek open in little grazes was enough, let alone on his dick. 

Diego was more vocal than he expected, and so was Haruno, both becoming a pair of groaning messes, getting washed away with their pleasure. Haruno wanted to scream and sob into the wall in his soft yet whiny moans, that would no doubt spur the other man on to thrust even harder into him, his husky, resonant grunts making Haruno feel even worse about how intensely he felt. Although he had never clearly said, he wanted this, and suddenly coming to terms with how roughly he liked to be treated was shameful. 


"You're the tightest babe I've ever fucked, that's for sure~" Diego scoffed through his moaning, in an almost surprised voice, like he almost expected Haruno to be anything else after not having sex for practically months-or was that Giorno? On a much more personal level, Haruno felt a tear prick in his eyes for Giorno, his usual self when he was out of his disguise, for the thought of Mista being with anyone else before him made him bitterly jealous. Of course, Haruno knew it was childish to assume a playboy such as Mista had gone eighteen years before meeting him without having sex, as if it wasn't all he spoke and probably thought about. Perhaps it wasn't that, but the thought of Mista loving another person made him feel uneasy. Haruno couldn't stop his cries, and started to cry even harder when he heard Diego laugh. 

"That make you sad? The thought of me fucking another bitch?" 

Haruno didn't answer, but let out a pathetic moan instead. 

"Answer me puddin'." 

He couldn't bring himself to even utter the words, or his jealousy mixed with all the shame he felt would overwhelm him, so Haruno simply nodded, but tried to make it as clear as possible that he was. 

"I wanna hear you say it." 


Within the time space of however long the two men had been hidden away down the maze of back alleys, taking part in their weird and twisted roleplay, Haruno had learnt that a sob starts with a lump in the throat. A lump that would choke you if you didn't let it out, making you cry noisily and convulsively gasp for air. Haruno wanted to say it-no, needed to say it, for there was a genuine feeling of worry in the boys mind as to what was happen if he didn't, but there were no words to speak. What do you do when you need to talk to save yourself, but there's nothing to say? 

"Are you deaf bitch? I told you to start talking!"


That was it. The tears wouldn't stop falling from Haruno's face, and in some weird way, he wasn't sure why. The shame, he realised had felt weirdly good, but one thing the boy had always lived by, Haruno or Giorno, was the refusal of useless things. He hated them. Haruno was feeling pretty useless now. He could still feel Diego thrusting into him, but now at a slower pace as he waited for him to reply. He was getting close, but at this point he wasn't sure if cumming would make him feel good or guilty. Diego didn't seem to care for Haruno's antics though, and kissed his teeth in annoyance at the boys cries, as they only got louder with each thrust. 

"Cat caught your tongue puddin'? It's okay babe, I'll tell you about them anyway." 


Diego grabbed at Haruno's hips, dropping his gun in the process so he could focus more on the movement of his own, groaning as he entered the boy even deeper than before. He clearly wasn't looking for the boys prostate, only wishing to pleasure himself, but Haruno didn't mind. The shame was getting him off. 

"So the first girl I fucked was called Valentina. She was a shy little thing.", he chuckled, reminiscing about his first time. 

"She got so wet for me so quick, you should've seen it babe." 

Haruno was at a loss for words. 

"I fucked a girl called Maria with my fingers down an alley just like I'm doing to you now with my cock." 

Cry. All he could do was cry. 

"Then there was dirty Alice, I took her on my bed." 


"But now I look at you Haruno. You're the most beautiful of them all." 

Haruno let out a strangled cry from his throat, and with that, came hard against the dirty wall, his legs threatening to give way under him. He could barely catch a breath before he felt Diego thrust into him with a loud groan, finishing inside him. The man thrusted a few more times to make sure he'd finished cumming, after that pulling out, and panting to catch  his breath. And like that, it was over. Mista was no longer Diego, and Haruno was Giorno again. Mista wasn't sure what had happened when he came to, but he knew it wasn't good. 


Mista almost started to weep as he heard his boyfriend mumble under his breath, suddenly taking in the view of Giorno's pressed against the dirty brick wall, slick with sweat and his cheeks sodden with tears. 

"...fuck me again." 

It was unbeknownst to them, but whatever had taken control of their rationality still held onto Giorno. 


"I-I-" Mista couldn't even find the words in his mind or strength in his heart to apologise, for no apology could make up for what he had done. CNC was a valid kink, but only when done with correct safe words, mutal fairness and trust, but what Mista had done didn't feel very fair. He'd used Giorno's body and made him cry, and whether or not Giorno wanted it and hadn't clearly said wasn't the point. He had upset the man he loved and he couldn't offer him a good enough apology. 

Mista didn't like to think much about a lot of things, but he needed to use his brain. All he could focus on was trying to comfort Giorno who still seemed drunk on lust, but the man didn't think he deserved to touch the boy. He needed to think about what he had done, or more importantly why he had done what he had. He left Giorno's plea unanswered while he thought, and eventually everything came into order, making Mista gasp at the sudden realisation. 


The information Trish had given the two of them didn't match up to what had happened, but it was the only lead he had. If the stand sex bomb could control the individual it was attacking sexually beyond any rationality, maybe that had happened? Maybe the two of them had been under some kind of spell when Mista had become Diego and Giorno had turned into Haruno once again? If that wasn't the case, Mista wasn't sure what was, and in the mess that wad his jumbled up mind that was racing with worry, it was the only hypothesis he could think of that made any logical sense. Yet one thing stood out: that there was no stand to be seen. Had Trish gotten it wrong? 


Mista took off his leather jacket and tenderly wrapped it around Giorno's shoulders, as he shook gently in autumn breeze, his trousers and boxers still around his ankles, deep in a haze of lust. Despite Mista's incessant worrying on the matter, Giorno didn't seem too bothered about what had happened, and was even asking for a round two. It was a roleplay of course, but Mista hated himself for not asking for consent properly before doing what he did, or even creating a safe word with his boyfriend incase it all became too much. Mista pulled up Giorno's boxers, followed by his trousers, doing up the button on his jeans so he looked at least a little presentable, already having pulled up his own jeans. Giorno was clearly still under the attack of the enemy stand, and Mista couldn't put an explanation to why that was. Both men had finished, so it couldn't of had anything to do with ejaculation. So then just what was it? 


"Diego..." Giorno called out in a whine, barely looking up at his boyfriend who chose to look away from the bleeding grazes on his cheeks after being forced against the wall. Mista held gio's shoulder gently and replied. 

"I'm not Diego, Giorno...I'm Mista, remember?" 


Giorno almost sounded confused by the name. 


Giorno's eyes widened. 



Before Mista could turn around, it had already happened. Giorno wasn't sure how it had missed him, but he was certain it was because of how Mista had pulled him out of the way. If anything was going to bring him back to his senses, it was that. His mouth dried and his heart rate quickened, his fight or flight response being triggered by whatever it was.  Giorno didn't have to wonder what it was. He just didn't want t admit it. Mista stared at him. And he stared at Mista. Giorno gulped but Mista couldn't, and he had very good reason as to why. 


The gushing, bullet-shaped hole that had shot through the middle of his throat. 

Chapter Text

“When someone enters a potentially stressful situation, the amygdala (part of the limbic system) is activated. The amygdala responds to sensory input (what we see, hear, smell, etc.) and connects sensory input with emotions associated with the fight or flight response (e.g. fear and anger).”  If the situation requires a short-term response the sympathomedullary pathway (SAM pathway) is activated, triggering the fight or flight response. Following the fight or flight response, the parasympathetic nervous system is activated to return the body back to its ‘normal’ resting state. Consequently, the parasympathetic nervous system slows down our heart rate and breathing rate and reduces our blood pressure. Furthermore, any functions that were previously slowed down are started again (e.g. digestion).” 



"Geez what's taking them so long?" 


Abbacchio and Bruno sat silently in the car, both ducking their heads to hide away from anyone that was walking past to avoid suspicion. The windows were tinted, so there was no real reason to, but Bruno pointed out that you "could never be too careful" in these kinds of situations, and for his beloved boyfriends peace of mind, Abbacchio nodded and complied. Tension filled the air and threatened to choke the two men if they weren't careful, as Mista and Giorno were yet to be seen, both mysteriously falling off of the radar around an hour ago without any means of contact. Bruno had begun to sweat and couldn't sit still in his seat like an impatient child, squirming and whining in displeasure. If he was to taste himself right about now, he wouldn't find that he was a liar, but a nervous wreck, as he looked over at his boyfriend and noticed that even Abbacchio couldn't hide the look of worry in his furrowed eyebrows. Bruno knew that out of everyone in the team, Abbacchio was easily the most worried, right next to Mista who took being paranoid to an almost irrational level as the man recalled a time that he willingly let himself get shot by his own bullets a fifth time, only because he couldn't stand only being shot four times. But Leone struggled to physically show his emotions, and Bucciarati had learnt this throughout their wholesome relationship, so if even Abbacchio was showing signs of anxiety, something must've been way off. 


When Giorno had explained their new mission to the team what felt like years ago now due to the worry (which in actuality was only in the past by a few hours), both men clearly remembered what heir boss had said. Once Mista and Giorno had captured their enemy, they would question her if alive or conscious enough to register what in front of her, Abbacchio would go into her motel room that was just across from Trish's, and use Moody blues to replay what had happened if she didn't comply. During that time Fugo and Narancia would fluidly make their way to Trish as if he were a damsel in distress and exercise extreme caution in escorting her from her hiding spot and back into safety. Back to Fugo. So why hadn't Giorno or Mista sent any reply back to Bruno and Leone's missed calls? Of course, if the two men were in the middle of capturing the enemy, phone usage would be scarce, but with determination as bright as Mista's and a stand as mighty as Giorno's, Bucciarati began to question their sudden disappearance? 


If Sex bomb's power really was to manipulate the hormones, Abbacchio could see how the men may have been in a situation that called for them to be cautious, but it had been Giorno's idea a few months ago to always carry work phones to update each other where they were. As hard as it was on Abbacchio's pride to admit sometimes, Giorno Giovanna was the most competent man in the whole of Italy, and could probably challenge for the title of one of the strongest men in the whole world, as his combination of irrational but logical thinking complimented the power of Gold experience nicely, so the situation seemed off. They were in the middle of a argument, sure, but Mista was mature enough to put personal affairs aside for a mission, and no matter how much Giorno vexed Mista and tested his patience as a boyfriend, he would willingly throw away his own life if there were at least a slim chance it would save his lovers. He loved that boy and there was no denying it, and a trivial lovers spat wouldn't come between Mista and his job as Giorno's lap dog.


Something wasn't right. 


Bruno reached for his phone again, his fingers sweaty and his hand shook nervously at the thought of his friends being in any state of peril, but Abbacchio placed his cold hand over his and squeezed it tight. Just like his hand, Bruno squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of such a wicked thought, as there was a moment in passing where Bucciarati had wondered if his teammates were even alive at all, let alone away from any sense of immediate danger. He shook his head profusely and let out a deep sigh through his nose, trying to keep his fear at bay. The only reason Bruno hadn't gone mad yet in the small confinement's of the hot work car they sat in was because of the gentle cold hand of Abbacchio that pressed against him, almost as if it were a reminder that he was real, and not trapped within his broken mind. But Abbacchio supposed that's what happened when you nearly saw your beloved lover and best friend bleed out on the damp, bleak sand of a windy beach on a mission-you start to worry at the thought of your friends, and usually at trivial things. This wasn't very trivial. Abbacchio was worried too for his own reasons, but this wasn't the time, and he couldn't let his perturbation consume any potentially helpful thought he had left. He had to comfort Bruno and find the strength within himself to not freak out, for if he did, it could jeopardise the whole mission. 


"Nothing good will come out of phoning them again." Abbacchio commented, hoping he could ease Bruno's pain of worrying with his words. 

Although it didn't seem like it did much, Bruno let out a choked whine and nodded in agreement, moving his hand away from his phone and looking down straight away, trying his best to focus on something else. Abbacchio could feel it too. They both did. Sensed something in the air that felt like tragedy was at hand. But if they even uttered a word about it, it would almost give some reality to such a thought, so they both decided not to think at all, and blankly stared ahead. Everything was silent for awhile: only the gentle breeze in the trees and clamber from the tourists and locals of the bitterly familiar streets of Rome. They didn't want to be here. Rome was nothing but a sick memory to them that made even the strongest willed in Team Mista feel small, and helpless like a lost puppy in the rain, and Mista and Giorno weren't making it easy for everyone by taking so long. 


There was a piercing shot, and what followed was disaster; an orchestra of strangled screams and gasps of shock, with mothers picking up their children in a hurry to run, and a brave crowd gathering near the the source of the sound. As if it  was an excuse to, Bruno readied himself in his seat, and looked around, quickly sharing a concerned glance with Abbacchio before looking back towards the commotion that unraveled in front them. Abbacchio recognised it as what sounded like Mista's gun go off, as their was a distinctive clink when the Sex Pistols fired a bullet, but Mista was mostly consistent when it can to his character, and it was out of the blue for him to endanger kids and women. Mista also knew his power in the mafia, and if that mean assassinating someone in cold blood in the street to prove a point, and then brag about his gunslinger skills or how quiet gunshots are in comparison to film's interpretations of them, he would without a thought. But one thing stood out to Abbacchio, and that was the fact that Giorno had asked him to avoid injuring the enemy, and if they needed to capture her, in skill and power Gold experience outweighed Sex Pistols ability. 


"A gunshot?" Bruno questioned, looking around with a troubled look In his eyes, sweaty palms wrapping around the car door handle in case of an emergency. Both men stayed put for a moment, trying not to draw attention to themselves by getting out and running over to see what all the fuss was about, but the familiar sound of Mista's sex pistols firing a bullet made it hard. If they were out of danger, there was no doubt in Abbacchio's mind that the two would contact Bruno soon and put his weary mind at ease, or be bold in their craft and run straight out of the crossfire and jump into the car with the enemy stand user in had. 

"Just ignore it" 


A second gunshot. Followed by another. And to top it off, one more rang throughout the dingy and dark alleyway that made Bruno's heart drop. The alleyway was close by so the shots rang in the men’s ears.  Four bullets, one fired a significant amount of time before the other three as they were quick fired, only the first one being fired by sex pistols. Before Abbacchio could even stop to think, Bruno acted fast, his hand already on the handle and threw the car door open, marching towards the sound. Abbacchio watched and let out a small "fuck" under his break, and unbuckled his seatbelt in a rush, getting out in pursuit of Bruno. Ever since the fight with Diavolo, Bruno could become indescribably enraged when those around in were in a state of peril, and worried to the point of irrationality. Abbacchio could usually help to calm him down, but the gunshots had throw Bucciarati over the edge and triggered his PTSD. He wouldn't lose anyone else, even if there was a small chance of that happening. 


"Bruno!" Abbacchio called after his boyfriend, reaching his hand out to his shoulder. 

"Bruno calm down!" 

Leone grabbed Bruno's shoulder to turn him around, begging his boyfriend to hear him out, but as soon as his palm made contact his shoulder, Bruno snatched himself away and stumbled backwards with a sour look on his face. 

"You want me to just sit around!" He bawled, his cheeks going red from rage and his hands bawling up into fists. Abbacchio expected a punch, and he would be lying if he didn't admit they hadn't punched each other before out of anger, but both of them understood that after the ordeal they had both experienced a punch was the least of their problems. Abbacchio flinched and scrunched his eyes shut momentarily, expected to be chinned, but only heard a sigh from Bruno. 

"I'm sorry." 

Abbacchio opened his eyes. 

"I'm really sorry, Leo." 

Abbacchio shrugged. 

"It's okay. I get it." 


Bruno opened his mouth to talk, but before he could get a word in was cut off by a scream. Nothing but a blood-curdling, gut-wrenching scream travelled through the both of them and made them shiver. It had come from the direction of the shots, but it sounded similar to a woman, but neither of them could tell as people were pushing past them, running in the opposite direction. Whoever the scream belonged to sounded pained but of the mental state, and their throat filled with anguish as they couldn't find nothing else to do but let it out as they held back the tears in their eyes. Broken, without an ounce of hope in their trembling voice. Bruno, if it was possible panicked even more, and looked towards his boyfriend for any kind of solace as they had to play it safe. Abbacchio stared back and gulped, shrugging with uncertainty as he wasn't sure what to suggest, but interfering definitely didn't seem like the appropriate course of action. After all, Abbacchio knew from his time as a police officer that interfering with other people's issues led to misunderstandings, and the unfortunate victims pinning the blame on the one person who was desperately trying to help. Still, they had heard Mista's revolver go off, and they couldn't ignore the ache it left in their hearts at the thought of their beloved teammate in any danger. They were well and truly stuck. 


"We need to get closer." Bruno advised with a reassuring look, earning a small nod from Abbacchio, complying with his lover before slowly advancing to blend in with the distressed crowd, not having to try very hard to look concerned for they were both using every inch of patience inside themselves to compose their feelings. Work was work. The mafia didn't care if you had something to worry about. 


As they pushed past the crowd and took a place in the inner circle of people, it not being hard for Abbacchio especially to see over everyone, they were greeted with a dark alleyway. The shots had definitely come from there judging by the sound, yet no one had revealed themselves yet, and no one had even gone into check (not like Bruno or Abbacchio could say any different). Four shots followed by a deathly scream and nothing else, which made them weary with worry as they couldn't take the tension any longer. Abbacchio wanted to push past the remaining people in front of him and aid his boss and fellow teammate if they were in a situation that called for backup, but the sting in his lung was like a knock on the door-the door of reality that brought him back to his senses. In direct combat, Leone had pretty much been rendered useless, and because of that he often wondered how useful his existence was in general. Giorno had assured that his presence was pivotal to the team, but Abbacchio had noticed that as he'd said that the boy couldn't bring himself to look in his eyes, for his lips trembled, uncertain with how true the statement was, and a heartbeat so fierce you could almost hear it break. Bruno knew it too, and Abbacchio deduced that he stayed still where he was for that reason, as he hadn't had a chance to take his medication this morning before being rudely called out for work, and in the winter air his lungs often failed him when he so much as walked with too much purpose. It truly felt like they were meant to die that day, but Giorno Giovanna had reached his hand down into the watery depths of death and pulled them both out before the cold embrace that held them under could drown them. Which was why now, when Leone and Bucciarati stood at the foot of what could've possibly been Giorno and Mista drowning in death, a bitter kind of guilt washed over them, for they couldn't return that favour. All they were good at was being each other's. They couldn't help if Giorno couldn't beat it. Still, it wouldn't stop them from at least trying. 


"I'll send Sticky fingers in." Bruno said, his stand manifesting beside him and walking closer to the alleyway. Abbacchio didn't comment as he'd already done it before he could say anything, and watched Sticky fingers create a zip into the wall, stepping inside. Ah, clever Bruno. To exercise the caution they needed in any case on a mission, and for their own safety, Sticky fingers had entered the inside of the wall, and would take the unassailable lead by every so often unzipping the wall and checking for any signs of their teammates. Leone was half tempted to summon Moody blues, but he wasn't sure why, so he did it without thinking just incase an enemy attacked them suddenly and Sticky fingers wasn't here to defend Bruno. It wasn't for Giorno, it was for his lover, Bruno. 


Sticky fingers carefully unzipped the wall and poked its head out to observe what was going on in the alleyway, Bruno almost willing the idea in his head that either of his teammates were in a state of peril away. Bruno focused hard to take note of the intricate maze of back alleys he travelled through, every so often emerging from the wall to check for any signs of life. So far, Sticky fingers had found nothing, and it was almost too quiet for him to be comfortable with. A strange sense of danger clung to the air, but there was no reason for that to be the case, as if was almost like the earth had been stripped of any sound, and all eyes, Gods or humans were watching Bruno move through the walls like a tiger shimmying it's hips in long lemongrass. A silent warrior that indirectly held the weight of the whole mission on his weary shoulders. At some point in time, and if Bucciarati recalled correctly even before he knew Giorno's name, he had entrusted an abnormal amount of faith in the boy, and stood by his feelings for him still. He had made a promise to protect him with his life even before he had kissed his golden ring that was symbolic of the custody he had over Bruno's life, but when Giorno had made his consciousness go berserk after he punched him. Bruno recalled that he had said that his "questioning had turned into torture" the day he had met Giorno, but upon second reflection the torture was working for Diavolo. He didn't want to waste his life to a boss that condoned children using drugs, and now they were in a similar situation. Drugs were being used and people were being killed. He needed to protect Giorno and his dream. 


Bruno got into a steady rhythm of travelling a few yards and then checking for anything with Sticky fingers, and after doing it a few times, it got repetitive. He was getting bored, and irritated that he wasn't getting anywhere with his search, almost wishing there was another shot or scream that would shed any light on where it had come from within the maze of alleys. Not only that, but the wall he was travelling through was coming to an end, and soon he'd have to come out of the zipper and travel through the alley unprotected. He sensed he was arriving at a corner in the wall, and took the opportunity to create a zipper from inside and peek his head out, looking for anything out of the ordinary. At first Bruno only noticed how weathered the wall in front of him looked, as it was cracky, and almost falling apart as big chunks of the brick wall had fallen out. It was behind was appeared to be an abandoned old shop, so it wasn't a completely insane idea that the conditions of the wall would be bad, but what did strike Bucciarati as strange was when his eyes wondered to a lower part of the wall, spotting a odd-looking smudge. Finally, a lead. Bruno took the initiative to tap Abbacchio's arm, signalling that he found something suspicious with Sticky Fingers and headed down into the dingy alley himself. 


The crowd of people made no attempt to try and stop Bruno from doing this, but instead let out a few gasps and made some under the belt comments as he advanced, telling Abbacchio to stay put incase a stand user showed themselves at the entrance of the alley. He advanced, and soon found where Sticky fingers had led him to, Bruno's stand pointing at the wall, or more specifically the smudge that was down it. Now that he was physically here, the man could observe the clue with more purpose than before. It was definitely blood, but not enough to award any real concern, but what did alarm Bruno was how fresh it was. If was about cheek-level with the wall, and still looked to be drying. It didn't appear to come from blood splattering on the wall, which would come from a gunshot, but instead looked like someone has smushed it against the brick, as if the wall was what had caused the injury. Bruno took note of this, and his eyes wondered lower, his face then suddenly scrunching up in disgusting. His lips curled into a frown and his eyebrows knitted together at was appeared to be...cum? There was a few splotches on it painted on the wall, and similarly to the blood still looked fresh, which changed the whole dynamic of the situation. Bucciarati wondered for a moment if the screams had come from a sexual assault victim, and the bullets were to rather shut them up, or to stop the predator in his advances. It seemed all very believable, but the man still couldn't shake the fact that Giorno and Mista hadn't contacted him for so long, and were supposed to be in this area of Rome at this exact time. It was too much of a coincidence. 


The man finally looked towards the floor, pushing the smeared blood and cum on the wall aside, his eyes widening at the sudden view of the gruesome sight. A pool of what appeared to be fresh blood festering beneath his feet. And when Bruno looked down and saw a 'pool' of blood, it was a genuine conjecture, as he felt like he could paddle in it if he lifted his feet up and down. Bruno swallowed the sudden urge to throw up and tried to compose himself so he could get the job done and find out just who the blood really belonged to. Seemingly the trail had started and stopped there, as it hadn't led to anywhere else, and there was no sign of the person it came from. If Bruno had touched it, he would've had to guess that it was still warm, and the victim was most likely dead, as there was at least two pints at his feet, and unless given immediate medical treatment would've bled out in the window of time it had been since the shots had been fired, not to mention they could've been shot another three times. A sudden pang of dread coiled in Bruno's stomach, as there was a possibility that the blood belonged to either Giorno or Mista. It could've been the enemy stand user...might not of been...could've been Giorno...might not of been...could of been Mista's...might not be though. Bruno needed to act fast. He needed to find the owner of the blood that seeped through his shoes. 


 Sticky Fingers was still pointing at the wall, and Bruno wasn't sure why, as he had already seen the smudge and pool of blood, but his stand stayed put, extending its arm out towards the crumbling bricks like a scarecrow. It really did look like it was about to fall down, and it wouldn't of been hard for someone to find a small hole in the wall and crawl through. And then it hit him. With such a thought, Bruno realised what his stand had meant when it continued to point at the wall, referring to not what was on it, but what was behind it. The victim might've crawled in through a small hole in the wall, as there were many scattered around and decided to curl up and die there like an abandoned kitten. 


Bruno made Sticky fingers punch at the wall and a large zipper appeared, unzipping at the mans will. What the wall hid was suddenly revealed, but before Bruno could make out who it was, all he heard was small cries. The cries of someone who was panicked and unsure, but close to giving up. An anguished kind of sob that only came from your throat when you were breaking, and needed that realise otherwise your heart would simply shatter due to the hurt it had endured. There were too many ways Bruno could've described such a cry, because there were so many emotions behind it, almost too many for to seem natural. As if the person that was crying had never done so before, and their eyes were a tap that would never cease to run dry after they’d been turned on. If Bruno had to put a name to whatever sadness meant, he would give it this persons name. But the voice sounded so oddly familiar, and Bruno couldn't take the tension any longer, opening the zip up on the wall even further so the morning sun would pierce through. 


There was a reason as to why the voice sounded so strangely familiar, yet Bruno wasn't sure why. It sounded pitiful, and the face it belonged to looked even more so, pathetically curled up in a ball. But what Bucciarati had seen next, well, there weren't words to describe the feeling. That's the thing about death: it takes so many shapes and feeds so many emotions, that you never know how to actually deal with it when the grim reaper comes knocking. In who appeared to be the strangers trembling arms laid a man a deathly pale, so haggard and so woebegone. Dark circles of death clung to his sunken eyes, and on his withered lips sat no expression as if a china doll. He had handsome dark brown, curly hair that was shaped into a mullet that had been tarnished with the sight of fresh blood, still oozing from a perfectly circular bullet hole through the mans neck. Blew his windpipe clean out. What he wore, Bruno didn't have time to concern himself with, but what he did notice was how horrifically well the blood that rendered him to such a useless state had stained his crimson turtleneck, blending  in so nicely with the colour, it was almost ironic. As if the man didn't want to get his other shirts dirty so settled for this one instead so the blood wouldn't show up. His hands were by his side like a doll and hadn't appeared to go stiff yet as the stranger held him tenderly, but one thing was for sure, one thing Bruno knew as soon as he saw him: 


He was dead. 


That was it. He was dead. Guido Mista. Dead on the floor. 


"I-I couldn't stop it!" The stranger bawled through his pathetic whimpers, bringing Mista's corpse closer to his face as tears ran down his flushed cheek. 

"He'll wake up soon," he hiccuped. 

"He will. I know he will. This is so like him to do!" 

All Bruno could do was listen to him ramble, whoever he was. 

"He loves to play pranks. This is a set up I know it. He took his stand-I couldn't stop it-but that's okay-that's fine-Mista will wake up, won't you, Missy?" 


Suddenly it clicked with Bruno just who the stranger was, and why he seemed so oddly familiar with a demeanour completely foreign. Giorno was the only person that called Mista, ‘Missy’. Giorno wasn't missing, this man was Giorno, who sat gently holding the lifeless body of his beloved bodyguard and lover in his arms. Bruno hadn't recognised his voice since he'd never heard Giorno even slightly upset, let alone in such a state that he could barely keep a grip on reality. He was always very levelheaded, and rational. He didn't seem very rational now, as he grabbed at Mista's face for reassurance from his now ex boyfriend, obviously not receiving any. Bruno noticed how different Giorno seemed, as he had a head of dark brown hair cut into an awkward bowl, and his eyes-they looked reminiscent of a death fishes eyes, but whether or not they was contacts or the glint of intense mental anguish he wasn't sure. He realised they must’ve tried to go under cover for the mission. Four bullets fired. One shooting straight through Guido Mista's throat, leaving him dead a few moments after, only able to let out a few small choked whimpers in an attempted to talk, the man choking on his blood as he fell to the floor. Giorno's cheek looked grazed, which Bruno supposed was what the smudge of blood on the wall was from, and the rest of the equation wasn't a question for now. Mista was dead. They had to deal with that. 



He wasn't sure when he had started crying, but Bruno did, joining in with his friend. 

"Fix him!" He pleaded,

"Fix him with gold experience." 

Giorno shook his head. 

"Gold experience only works on living things. M-Mista is quite dead." 

He sounded so tormented, to them point of a complete nervous breakdown. When a numbness replaces emotions if they overwhelm the system. 

"I refuse to subject him to living without a pulse in his veins and watch him slowly rot." 


"What's going on! Bruno?" They both heard Abbacchio shouting from outside, eventually seeing the zipper on the wall and poking his head in. Giorno had never really seen Abbacchio emote much-his emotions were usually kept pretty basic in the company of others unless it was Bruno, but nothing had prepared him for this. Leone didn't know he was going to be in the company of his festering corpse of a friend, and didn't know how to react to the blundering mess that was his boss and his boyfriend who sat silently crying at his feet, almost as if he were begging for this to all be a dream. Heaven knows Giorno wished this was a dream, because he sure was miserable now. As well as thinking that Mista died with the thought in his mind that he had caused Giorno to suffer much by pleasuring him. How twisted this whole catastrophe was! And how torturous was Mista's dead body was on Giorno's already fragmented mind. He knew too much at such a tender age! And no matter how you look at it, seeing what Giorno, or Haruno had seen as a child would already be enough to drive a strong man insane, let alone your lover dying as he held you. 


"Oh shit..." was all Leone could utter as he rested his hand on Bruno's shoulder, not sure how he should convey his emotions, choosing to stare at Mista's lifeless body with an expressionless face. Or was it a numbness? 


"They'll pay." 

Bruno and Abbacchio looked over towards Giorno, who needn't look up for them to recognise the look of pure, unbridled rage on his face as his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched up. He still held Mista in his arms, but it seemed to be more bitter now than anything. After all, the dead couldn’t tell what comfort was. 



“They’ll pay for what they’ve done to my Mista. They’ll know what true pain is before I’m done with them.” 

Chapter Text

After they had found Giorno, it was hard to get him up on his feet, to the point the two men had to drag him out of the alleyway, through the pool of blood, past the smudge of blood on the cracked brick wall, and past the other substances as well. For a time, Abbacchio had to struggle in an attempt to pry the dead man from his bosses arms, Leone choosing to look away as he felt Mista's arms going stiff in his grasp, skin cold to the touch. Giorno begged, pleaded, whined to the man for this to all to be a dream, for Mista to not be dead, and even fell to his knees to clap his hands together for God, but it was all futile. Haruno knew of God's existence, or lack of, and the fact miracles only happened when you made them happen. He tried to keep Mista close to him, as if just by staring at him would will his chest to rise and fall once more, and bring back the warm inviting feeling of blood pumping in his veins. The boy has gotten used to feeling no pulse in his own wrists due to his vampiric tendencies, but feeling the same in Mista's made his heart fit to break. 


He couldn't bare it. He didn't feel Mista's presence, or Mista's stand. Everything had been stripped away from him so suddenly, and he wouldn't admit it was true. Telling Giorno that Guido was dead, was like telling someone that the sky was in fact green, it just didn't sit right in his mind. That's why when Abbacchio had tried to take Mista's body off of him, he put up a fight. As soon as Mista wasn't in Giorno's arms anymore, he'd have to face the reality of never being able to hold him again. He'd never get a good morning kiss placed on his nose again, and he wouldn't get to listen to the steady breathing in Mista's chest as he laid his head across his torso while they slept in. Giorno could never wake up to the smell of the breakfast Mista made him, nor could even listen to his boyfriend tell him he loved him. Now that he thought about it, boyfriend felt like such an immature term to use in reference to Mista, for he was so much more than that to Giorno; he was his whole world. And he no longer had any of it. The boy recalled the morning they'd shared together only a few days ago when Mista had cooked him that full English breakfast. How they'd spoken to softly, so casually to each other. It was a strange sensation, since Giorno had never experienced it, but he felt so incredibly bitter and jealous of himself from the recent past. Bruno had always taught him since he joined the Passione to never go to bed on an argument, since you never know if you'll ever get to solve the issue, and he'd down just that. He was drowning in guilt, and for what? Over a stupid argument that never even had to exist because Mista had slammed his hips down too aggressively, and Giorno felt inclined to carry the grudge around with him for the next few days because he was stubborn? What a pathetic joke. 


Giorno struggled much, and even summoned his stand in an attempt to ward Abbacchio and Bruno off when they tried to take Mista's body from him. While Giorno continued to cry, Bruno and Abbacchio had to be mature about the situation, and ignore the want to do the same as their boss, and fall to the floor in tears for their fallen teammate, but they couldn't. If they did, who would be there to pick up the pieces? They sure did need Mista to, for he always was the one to clean up everyone else's mess when they couldn't-tie up the lose ends and relieve everyone's pain with comic relief. They didn't have that anymore and they had to make due. Bruno agreed to go get the car, and pull up at the entrance of the alleyway where he hoped no one still stood, for Abbacchio volunteered to carry Mista's body to it so they could go back to the house. 


"Hurry back." Abbacchio had urged, but he mainly meant that because in a sort of selfish sense, he couldn't deal with being away from Bruno. He wasn't strong enough on his own. That's the way it had always been. Not only that, but it had started to rain, as if the skies were crying over the death of Guido Mista too, and for Abbacchio there were too many bitter memories associated with the rain. It made him feel uneasy, but it always reminded him of when he had first met Bruno. Without Bruno there, he was completely alone. Giorno couldn't offer much comfort currently, and the man didn't blame him. Why. Why did it have to be Mista? Abbacchio wished it had been him. It was about time he paid off his debt to Giorno for keeping him alive so long after he was fated to die. He hated that he was thinking like this, but his friend had just died. 


Bruno complied, and ran back to the car through the pouring rain, and collected the car, leaving it unlocked while he returned back to Abbacchio and Giorno, giving his boyfriend a small pat on the back as reassurance. Giorno was still sobbing on the floor, and it took everything within Bruno to compose himself enough to string a tangible sentence together. 


"Giorno..." he trailed off, looking down but trying not to catch a glimpse of Mista's corpse. 

"Giorno we need to get Mista in the car. We can't just keep him here." 

For awhile Giorno didn't reply, and simply just looked down, listening to the usually calming sound of the rain gently reaching the floor. 

"He'll wake up in the boot if we do that..." Giorno started. 

"W-what if he wakes up in the boot? Won't he be scared?" 

Bruno shook his head. 

"He'll start to bloat soon, don't wanna see that. In three hours he'll go completely cold and after awhile he’ll start to smell if we stay here." 


Bruno had to be completely honest, or there was no chance of Giorno handing over Mista's body, and after hearing such a vivid description of what would happen to his boyfriend in a matter of hours made in wince at the mental torture it caused. His grip loosened on Mista, and when it did Abbacchio stepped in, looking away and picking up his dead friend, carrying him out of the abandoned house through the zipper. Bruno offered his hand to Giorno, and reluctantly he took it, helping his boss up to his feet and wrapping his arm around him for support. Abbacchio walked ahead, carrying Mista bridal style through the alleyway, Giorno watching as Mista's hands dangled by his side, lifeless and stiff. Abbacchio looked around to see if anyone was about, it not really mattering if someone did see them, for the mafia could get away with a lot considering they were above the law, the law he once worked for, opening the boot of the car. He thought to throw Mista in so he could get rid of the feeling of death on his hands, but decided against it as Giorno watched, slowly lowering him into the boot and shutting it gently. Bruno ushered Giorno into the backseat and strapped him in, knowing he wouldn't do it himself while Abbacchio waited for him in the front. Bruno assumed the position as the driver and started the car up. 


For the meantime, the mission had been called off, and Trish, Fugo and Narancia were all asked to retreat back to the main manor they lived in without being told why, only that there was a malfunction in the effectiveness of the mission, and carrying on would cause even more issues. As it stood, Abbacchio and Bruno weren't at all sure how Giorno hadn't been able to act fast enough to keep his boyfriend alive, especially if it was Mista, but Abbacchio had raised a valid point while they whispered about it in the front seats of the car that the boy may have been in far too much shock to notice the severity of the situation, or maybe the enemy stand user had some way of preventing him, but the details were unclear. Giorno wasn't exactly In the mood to talk, all he could do was sit and fiddle with Mista's revolver in his lap. But what they had managed to get out of him was that there was a stand involved, and even worse, one Giorno had already known about had been told to be cautious of by the capo of Rome. They whispered quietly about it in the front of the car like mother's gossiping over a dinner at a party, but it's not like Giorno was listening, or could even hear due to the gravity of the situation suddenly weighing him down like a Boulder that would continue to get bigger and more troublesome with each passing moment. The Rolling Stones. 


Mista was dead. That was it. What else was there to say? Shot once through the throat and died moments after choking on his own blood. Killed with his own stand too. The enemy stand user that had been involved in Mista's death Giorno already knew about, but was unaware the user was part of a small-time gangster circle such as this. The stand was called 'Stand and Deliver', controlled by a man called Lorenzo, which was a long-range stand that had the ability to momentarily take peoples stands and use their ability once. In this case, Sex Pistols had been used to shove a bullet through their owners neck. Ironic. Bruno didn't have it in him to ask about the rest of what he had found on the wall, or why his cheek had been cut open, but he didn't feel like it was because of an enemy stand user. It had barely gotten to lunchtime and Mista was a corpse. Two hours ago, or even an hour ago Guido was alive and breathing. Probably deep inside Giorno calling him "sugarplum" or "baby doll" while they acted out their sick and twisted roleplay. Maybe if they hadn't been so foolish and done that, Mista could've been alive. Maybe he wouldn't be playing with his ex boyfriend's gun in his trembling hands, the only memory he had left of him. 



Giorno felt dirty: like there was a spot of grime on his body he just couldn't scrub hard enough to get rid of, or a scratch he couldn't reach. Mista had died thinking his lover hated him, and the memory of his dark, usually warm eyes staring back at him with the pain of a thousand heartbreaks, for he had said before he'd rather die than upset Giorno, and in this case, it was true. He still felt Mista inside him, and it was for that reason he hadn't asked Abbacchio to use Moody blues to replay what had happened, for the context of the situation did seem dubious, but it was everything Giorno had ever wanted. Maybe Mista's list had become Giorno's somewhere along the line, and Mista was the one at his mercy.


Bruno noticed that Giorno had looked up towards them gossiping in the front of the car about his dead boyfriend, and to clear the air of the conversation, Abbacchio pressed the 'on' button of the radio, a CD disk already playing and halfway through a song. Bruno had been driving, so the familiar sound of the 'Stinky fingers' album filled the car, the worst possible song to play in that moment came on, Sod's law in full-swing. 'Wild horses'. A somber but heartfelt song in its own way played out, and as the melancholic song danced past Giorno's ears, he couldn't help but let the last of his tears roll down his sodden cheeks. 

I watched you suffer, 

A dull aching pain.

Now you decided, 

to show me the same. 

No sweeping exists, 

Or off-stage lines, 

could make me feel bitter, 

Or treat you unkind. 

Wild horses, couldn't drag me away.  


Abbacchio expected the choked sob that erupted from Giorno's throat, filling the car with an anguished melody of cries, as Bruno joined in too, something the man was shocked at. But what Abbacchio was even more confused of, was his own quivering lip, and the tears that pricked his eyes that threatened to fall in pursuit of some grave release of his sadness. The duo became a three-man band, and played the supporting act in Wild horses' performance, as all three of them cried over the track for the dead man in their boot. 


I know I've dreamed you 

A sin and a lie.

I have my freedom, 

But I don't have much time.

Faith has been broken, 

Tears must be cried,

Let's do some living 

After we die.

Wild horses, 

Couldn't drag me away

Wild, wild horses 

We'll ride them some day.


Bruno wiped his waterline free from tears and kept his eyes on the road, that was until the piercing sound of a siren drew his and everyone else's attention to the rear view mirror, Abbacchio spotting the state of himself and wiping his tears away too. Abbacchio was met with the nostalgic view of a police car, and Bruno swore under his breath at the dreaded sight of flashing blue lights, signalling for them to pull over. At the end of the day, none of the men had to be scared, for the man in the backseat was above any kind of law, but all through an illegal sense. And to add to that, it's not like Giorno was particularly in a comfortable state of mind to use his usually unmatched thinking skills to help them get the policeman off of their hands. If they could, Bruno would try his best to pass off a normal civilian, who definitely had never killed anyone, and the same went for everyone else in the car. 


If they had to, the two men in the front knew they'd have to exert their power as the top dogs in the grand food chain of mafiosos, especially since their physical states did no justice to prove their innocence. Bruno looked dishevelled, and that was an understatement. The same could be said about Abbacchio, as the two men in the front both had eyes sunken into their heads from the pain of their past ailments after not taking their tablets today, their cheeks flushed and stained with tears, and drying blood on their hands figuratively and quite literally. On a much more dire note, Giorno was in a much worse state, and hardly in any position to defend his innocence (which he really wasn't). His hands were covered in his lovers blood, that traveled up his shaky arms where he had held Mista, and stained his old clothes to the point it had leaked through onto his skin. Not only that, but he was just fiddling with his ex boyfriends revolver, which for the most part was illegal to carry on you and use, but not to own. There were two bullets left in the chamber, four going off earlier, never to be inhabited by Sex pistols again. To top it off, they'd been driving forty-one in a thirty, and if the situation had to get any worse it would, as there was one major issue-the elephant in the room that Bruno hadn't mentally pointed out to himself yet: Mista dead in the boot. It was illegal to 'kill' people, right? 


With a nervous sigh, Bruno pulled over into the nearest lay-by at Abbacchio's confusion, and anxiously waited for the copper to do the same, watching in the mirror as he did. The police officer got out, immediately giving off the impression that he had nothing better to do then cause a scene, all the airs and manners of a cocky little man, but obviously trying to do his job. Bruno could respect a police officer for trying to do his job and look after the community, just like Abbacchio had tried to do, and just like they all tried to do now, but mostly with power came the unfortunate abuse of it. The officer looked short and stocky, being rather lanky in build with a beard running down his neck. He walked over to the car, knocking on the window to get Bruno's attention, giving the man a perfect excuse to hide his bloody hands as he moved them to wind the window down. Abbacchio didn't recognise him. He must've been new. If it was any other officer they would've recognised Bruno or Giorno instantly, and let them go without any questions asked. 


"Do you know why I pulled you over sir?" 

Bruno immediately cringed at the confidence in his voice and shook his head, playing dumb. This was getting out of hand. It was a matter of time before he looked around the car and saw the state of the other two-the gun-the dead man in the boot! How were you meant to talk your way out of this situation? Bruno debated using Sticky fingers to put a zipper on both of his legs and pull them clean off and speed away, but he didn't have much time to act out his thoughts before he was interrupted by the officer. 

"You were going forty-one miles per hour in a thirty. I'm gonna need to see your license and some registration." 


"2736 kilometres per hour." 

Bruno cringed and whipped his head around, not expecting to hear a peep out of Giorno, and was just as surprised as the police officer was as the boy held Mista's revolver in his hands shakily towards the man outside the cars head. Giorno was so terribly tired, and obviously didn't care for proper etiquette, and his fragmented mind had decided the best way to dissolve the issue was to pull a blood-covered gun on it. 

"2736 kilometres per hour. That's how fast on average one of my bullets will travel through your fucking skull if you don't learn when to shut your dirty whore mouth." 

No one spoke for a moment, but the police officer suddenly had a lot more worry in his eyes when he saw the gun, soon after noticing the blood that decorated Giorno's body. The boy scoffed, almost amused at the mans reaction and carried on. 

"Something my boyfriend told me earlier while he had sex with me in an alleyway." 

So that’s what the substance was on the wall. 


It seemed Giorno still had the strength in him to keep up the appearance of a hardy, ruthless mafia boss. Before the copper could break his silence Giorno wanted to make his point clear. 


"Now I don't know how you think this is gonna go hun, but I sure as fuck can tell you how it is gonna go." 

With a cock of the revolver the situation became a lot more dire than before. 

"I'm the boss of you, your boss, and your bosses fucking boss. Don Giovanna ring any fucking bells, sweetheart?" He said in a domineering tone, ripping his brown wig off to reveal his signature blonde hair. 

"So you're gonna back off like a good boy now before I gouge out your left eyeball with a bullet." 

The police officer looked like he was under some kind of spell: a stuttering mess that had nothing to say back to Giorno's declaration of power, hearing about Don Giovanna even before he joined the police force, utterly surprised at the fact that the boss of the mafia was a crying, spluttering nineteen year old holding a revolver to his head. He was cold and authoritative in langue, but had the grace of a king that had nothing left to lose but his mind, covered in blood and chunks of windpipe. If this really was Don Giovanna, which it was, there wasn't a chance in hell the police force could overpower them, hardly wanting to for the mafia in recent years had tried to keep drugs off of the street. Still, they took jobs and respect away from the police officers, but that was hardly an issue currently. The officer went to reply, most likely with the ramblings of an idiot but Giorno cut him off. 

"Bruno, drive." 


Bruno didn't have to be asked twice before his foot met the gas, speeding off without a word. The officer almost fell over in an attempt to get out of the way, and wanted to shout after them to come back, making his way over to his police car, but what could he do? It was the mafia, he had nothing on them. Wind swept through Bucciarati's hair as he sped away, reminiscent of a movie scene, but a lot of the time he felt his life did, as he had to remind himself what he did for a living. It felt like one moment he was fishing with his father, and the next he was speeding away from police officers after threatening to gouge their eyes out with bullets. Abbacchio held onto the seat, the car getting faster with every passing minute, pushing the boundaries of how much the vehicle could stand. Giorno didn't react, but the fake smirk he had wiped across his face when talking to the officer unsuspectingly turned into a chuckle. The chuckle escalated into laugh, which eventually got the attention of Abbacchio, and then Bruno as it turned into some kind of deranged, mad cackle. But the sounds of laugher didn't fill the car for long, as Giorno's voice became breathy and strained, becoming something similar to a sob that choked him. 

Bruno's suspicions had been satisfied, but in the most unfortunate way possible as he quickly looked back at Giorno, and then back at the road without saying anything. He wasn't looking at the boy as his boss, but as his dear friend, that sat crying and broken in the backseat of his car. Giorno didn't like to be violent, but had to be at times, never showing Bruno or Abbacchio just how harsh he could be. He always did his killing or gave his "stern words" in private, so it was sudden that he'd pulled a gun on an officer. He really had nothing left to lose but his mind, and with each passing moment that Mista sat dead in the boot of the car, he lost a little more. 


They got home not long after that, all thanks to Bruno driving insanely fast, and recklessly too, swerving past any cars they might've overtook, ignoring the incessant beeping from the others on the road. They didn't need to care, and quite frankly didn't at this point, keeping the music off to avoid another moment like earlier. All three men were holding on by a thread, and although it didn't feel like a very fitting time right now emotionally, they had to think about the next steps for the mission. Giorno had sworn that he wouldn't let Stand and deliver or the stand user get away with what they'd stolen from him. 

"Pull up close to the front door." Abbacchio ordered, Bruno complying and getting as close as possible to the entrance of their shared residence they used mainly for work purposes, all with the intention of not having to carry their dead teammate as far, the feeling of death now clinging to his skin. It took roughly two hours to get from Rome to Naples by car, so Abbacchio would be lying if he thought he hadn't smelt Mista from the boot on the way home, but he brushed off the thought incase he brought it up and upset Giorno, pretending he didn't care too much about it (when he did), getting out of the car. Bruno got out of the car, and helped Giorno get out after, Abbacchio opening the boot and momentarily looking away. 


Mista's body looked significantly different compared to when they'd put him in the boot, as the position he was in looked unnatural, and his limbs looked stiff at the joins as rigour mortis set in. His usually olive skin as turned a sickly shade of white, and his eyes were sunken into their sockets, the blood that matted his hair and covered his body now dry. Because Mista and Giorno had become Diego and Haruno on the mission, choosing to work undercover, Abbacchio wanted to say that it almost didn't look like Guido, which was just another way of dealing with denial on his part, almost expecting Mista to waltz out of the front door and take a look at their latest victim. As Abbacchio picked his lifeless corpse up, he could almost hear Mista's voice and what he'd say in the situation that they had killed another and decided to bury them close by, or had them in the boot for transportation. 

"You really did him in, hey, Abba?" Mista would've scoffed, a whistle of appreciation coming from his throat as his teammate shut the boot again, a cocky smirk across his face. But this time, it wouldn't be Mista offering any comic relief to their job, as he was the victim in the boot of the car. 



"Where should we put him?" Abbacchio asked Bruno, trying to be responsible in the situation, but before his boyfriend could answer, Giorno replied. 

"Put him in my room for now." He mumbled, 

"I want to say goodbye to him. You know-properly this time." 


Abbacchio couldn't argue with that, walking through the front door, trying to be careful not to hit Mista's head on the way in, but it's not like it would matter. With Bruno by his side, who urged Giorno not to come up with them, they took Mista to their bosses room, which was on the far right of the large house. Truth be told, Abbacchio and the others had always been urged to stay out of Giorno's room at night (unbeknownst to them that it was because he did not possess the need to sleep in a bed), so the man wouldn't say he wasn't at least a little curious, but holding Mista in his arms felt traumatic in itself. All his memories, qualities, off-side comments, and stand didn't exist anymore in the present, and Abbacchio didn't know how to handle it, he never had when it came to death. It took too long to get to the dull looking door that was entrance of Giorno's room, so by the time the two men did, Abbacchio didn't comment on what he had walked into. Good thing Bruno was there so the questioning for him. 


"What the fuck?" Bruno blurted out as he opened the door and looked into the dark room, shocked by what he had seen. Abbacchio was too, but the surprise seemed to take the words from his mouth and throw them aside. For the most part, Giorno Giovanna was a well-rounded, well-respected nineteen year old who was too powerful for his own good, with more responsibilities than personality. He was quick to make decisions, and easy on the eyes as he had an almost unearthly charm about him that had the power to make anyone swoon, even Abbacchio and Bruno knew about it in recent years which felt extremely strange to admit. So what they saw had perplexed them both, almost to the point that Abbacchio forgot he was holding Mista. The room had absolutely nothing in it, except for a noticeable pile of books, some in English, some in Japanese, some half burned, and some completely torn to shreds that were strewn across the floor. The floor wasn't carpet like the rest of the house, but a strange kind of stone like you'd expect in a villa, adorned with animalistic scratches, which helped to make the room all the more cold, as well as the light bulb being shattered on the floor. There was soil scattered all over the stone, leading directly to the main mystery of the day that was Giorno's choice or bed, or lack of to be exact. He didn't have a bed, sure, but instead he had...a coffin? Abbacchio stepped in and walked closer, observing the coffin with Mista in hand, noticing the soil that had been dragged across the floor had led to the bed because it had worked as a strange kind of mattress inside the coffin, the door of it hanging open. It was black and wooden for the most part, decorated with a ribbed gold pattern on the sides, a large emerald complimenting the door. What drew Abbacchio and Bruno in more as they took a closer look was the flashy golden lock that was bolted to the side, with the word 'DIO' carved into it. Had to be someone's name. From the craftsmanship and condition of the coffin, it looked old as it had been weathered, but that was hardly an issue. Their boss slept in a coffin filled with dirt. They looked over at each other with concern before Abbacchio shrugged. It wasn't their job to judge Giorno, nor were they going to bring it up at a time like this, but it didn't stop them from wondering what kind of secrets he kept from them. 


More gently than he had before when he put him in the boot, Abbacchio reluctantly lowered Mista onto the dirt that filled the large, wooden coffin and stood back up to look down at his friend. The room was disgustingly cold, and Bruno came in for a hug as Abbacchio shivered, the man gladly returning it. Abbacchio rested his head on his boyfriends shoulder as he hugged him, opening his eyes for a brief moment before closing them. But he hadn't had them closed again for very long when he felt almost inclined to open them once more, his eyes being willed open by what hung on the wall. Staring into his soul. 

"What a pretty stone mask." 




Abbacchio ordered Giorno to stay out of the room they put Mista in, and normally he wouldn't of listened to his words, knowing he held a significant amount of authority over him, but he didn't poke or pry, and simply took to burying his head in his knees instead. As a former police officer, Abbacchio was used to seeing dead people, and as a trained assassin, so was Bruno, both helping each other out, taking turns cleaning Mista's body of the now dry blood when their hearts ached too intensely. 


The house sat quietly for what felt like decades, only realistically being a few hours at most, but the silence, Giorno learned without Mista being loud in his ear was almost something you could actually hear. Bruno and Abbacchio sat close by in the living room on the sofa opposite Giorno, but not a word was exchanged between the three of them. Bruno had his head in his hands, Abbacchio's head was hanging backwards over the top of the sofa, and Giorno sat in the corner curled up. The guilt threatened to drive Giorno insane, as he hated to admit it to himself, but as his boyfriend was dying, if it wasn't for Stand and deliver taking his ability momentarily, he was sure he still wouldn't of been able to save him, as he'd had the passing impulse to lap up the blood from his gushing throat after getting a taste for it, hiding the fangs that grew in his quivering mouth, and vicious claws that extended from his fingernails. He really was just a blood-hungry vampire. It almost felt like an awkward silence, and they had nearly gotten used to it when the men were rudely interrupted by their other teammates. 


Narancia and Fugo stormed in past the doors, unaware of the tragedy that had struck the team and looked around. 

"What happened?" Narancia questioned, with a little too much anger in his tone, making Giorno shiver at the thought of giving an answer. Fugo looked worried, but still annoyed either way and piped up. 

"Did the enemy fall back? Where's Mista?" 

Giorno stayed silent, hoping someone else would answer. 

"He's upstairs." Abbacchio said, most likely sending mixed signals to the boys. They all sounded exhausted, and were far too tired to give a proper explanation, even so early on into the afternoon. None of them were sure why Narancia or Fugo were upset as they'd managed to get Trish back without any trouble, but they assumed the frustration was directed at Mista as he was the team leader. 


"That son of a bitch better have good reason for this!" Narancia bawled in anger, storming upstairs, obviously in reference to Mista 'cancelling' the mission. 

"Don't say I didn't warn you" Abbacchio mumbled under his breath as Narancia walked towards Giorno's bedroom, but only Fugo had managed to hear it as he stood at the foot of the stairs. 


As quickly as the sound had erupted when the two boys had walked in, it died out for a moment, Fugo choosing not to go upstairs with Narancia after a feeling of dread filled him from Abbacchio's under the belt comment. Everything was silent until a harrowing scream ripped through the air. Sure, Mista was upstairs, but Abbacchio had missed out the bit where Mista was dead.

Fugo's own questions had been answered for him: Narancia's pained cry told him all he needed to know about how much of Mista was upstairs, which wasn't a lot, as all that remained was a hollow, cold shell of the man he once was.


That's why the mission had been called off. 


Giorno couldn't bring himself to move until much later in the day, simply letting life fly by as he sat curled up on the sofa motionless. It seemed like the pain would numb for a moment, giving Giorno such an odd sense of relief, until the sadness would flare up again, making the boys heart break all the same. There was simply no getting used to the reality that his beloved Guido was dead, and a life of anguished suffering was what he was destined to live through now like a harsh prison sentence. Moral was low between the others, as Bruno and Abbacchio had taken to drinking through Giorno's cellar of wine, and the other two had taken to taking their anger out on the wall as they punched it. When Giorno had finally found the strength in himself to stand up, he felt dizzy, not drinking or eating all day, as well as holding in his urges to go to the toilet too. He stumbled backwards, almost falling back onto the sofa he'd been curled up on, but he managed to steady himself after awhile. The others hadn't seen him sneak up to his room, but like he'd said to Abbacchio earlier, he wanted to say goodbye to Mista properly. 


It certainly had been hours, as it had been around one in the afternoon when they arrived back with Mista in their boot, and after looking towards the clock Giorno passed has he walked down the hall he deduced it was way past tea time at ten in the evening. Darkness has draped over the city of Naples once more and was fitting for the somber mood that Giorno dragged along behind him, trudging through the maze of corridors in the house. He was so caught up in his own wallowing that he hadn't noticed how quickly he reached his bedroom door, noticing it straight away as it felt like an aura of black swarmed the door. The aura of death. Giorno bit back a sob as he knew Mista was behind the door, slowly rotting on a bed of earth, already put in a coffin. Ironic how Giorno’s place of rest was now Mista’s forever. The terrifying thought that his teammates had seen how he lived had crossed his mind while he cried on the sofa, but if they were willing to pretend that they’d never seen it, so was Giorno. 


The door was pushed open gently, revealing the melancholic atmosphere that filled the room, the corner of the coffin just about visible from where Giorno was standing. He stepped in, shutting the door behind him gently in case it alerted anyone and looked around. Everything seemed to still be in place. Walking over the books, careful not to step on any, Giorno made it to the side of where Mista was laying. It looked as if he were sleeping-ready to wake up if Giorno so much as breathed too loudly, but the boy knew that wasn’t the case, for he would be ‘asleep’ forever. He wanted to break down; scream and cry for what he had lost but it would break his heart tenfold in the presence of Mista, as he’d come to face that when he was sad his boyfriend wouldn’t be able to hold him anymore. He was sure Mista would’ve wanted him to be strong, so again he bit back a cry and kneeled down so he was closer to his partner. 


Mista’s cheek was cold to the touch as Giorno caressed it, now clean of blood after Bruno and Abbacchio had cleaned him off. Mista always looked so gentle before he opened his mouth, as his features were kind and handsome. His jawline was sharp, the curve in his nose was subtle with a bump in its bridge, and his lips were fat and wide, which Giorno had always swooned over. Even before their relationship had progressed into even a friendship Giorno had treated Mista differently, with a lot more passion and empathy. The boy recalled when the two of them had shot at Cioccolata in the helicopter, and how he’d helped Mista take aim by holding him close by the hip. If he knew that time that their time together would fly by so quickly, maybe he would’ve held on for a little longer. 

“Goodbye, Guido.” Was all Giorno could muster without crying. 

“Just know I will always love you.” 


Giorno had also said something in Japanese that was even more sentimental than what he had said before that was hardly translatable, and with that planted a tender kiss upon the mans pale forehead. When he’d first thought about coming to say goodbye, Giorno thought he’d have so much more to say, but what else could he say? He loved Mista and wanted to let him know. That was all. Giorno stood up to leave, looking down at his lover one more time bitterly before turning to walk out. 



Still, Mista looked peaceful like he was a china doll, and as Giorno had caressed his face he had treated him like he was made of porcelain. There wasn't a single wrinkle of anguish or sign that his lips as been curled into a from as he choked when he died. He almost looked too peaceful to be dead, as if he had fallen into a long awaited sleep after being cooed by the sweet lullaby of death. If Giorno wasn't careful, he would convince himself that Mista was still alive if he stared at him too long, so with a loving but sorrowful passing glance, he had kissed the top of his past lovers forehead, and handed him over to the afterlife. Yet it still stood, that the afterlife hadn't expected him so soon. He wasn't ready, he'd come too early. He was going the wrong way. Wrong way indeed as Giorno walked towards the door, but hesitantly turned around with a flicker of hope in his eyes, as if he had just felt the last ace up his sleeve he had forgotten about. Mista didn't have to be dead, but he didn't have to be alive either, which in technical terms was how Giorno identified himself as well. Undead under the category of: blood sucking vampire.


The stone mask that hung on the wall stared at Giorno. Giorno stared back at it. It’s not like he could use it on himself.


Chapter Text


He was gone for fourteen days. He could've been gone for more. Held up in the oppressive maze of nothingness that was purgatory, lucky he hadn't been sent to hell yet. It was a close call, but something had called him back. Not a voice? No, he'd struggled much to reach out for the voice that pleaded for him to stay alive as he died, but he could never get close enough to the surface of reality to wake himself up. Still, he couldn't satisfy their plea, as he wasn't exactly alive. Something had happened-an affiliation with a mythical creature, a friend of a friend possessed the qualities of one and had been kind enough to pass them down to him. Well, the father of a lover to be exact, but the details of what had happened hardly needed explaining right now. He hadn't opened his eyes yet-couldn't bring himself to snap that band of death that clung at his throat and choked him. But he realised that he needn't worry about the band-he could live with death. Just what had his lover done to him this time? He didn't need to breath, but he still hadn't the strength yet to open his eyes. He felt the need to soon though, for he felt incredibly...incredibly hungry...for something that wasn't suitable for the likes of a human.


Every evening, Giorno stayed up late into the early morning, having to buy a bed for show as he realised that every one of his teammates had seen his coffin that Mista still laid in. It was his fathers and he didn't want it taken away. He had told the others that Mista had been collected by a private undertaker the morning after he was killed, and since they had hardly any reason to not believe him, his friends didn't pry any further. As it stood, Giorno seemed to possess more vampiric tendencies than he had initially thought, finding out from some of the scorched books he had managed to get his hands on entailed that he stayed up late reading. It turned out that as a vampire, to feel fully rested he had to sleep on boxes of his native earth-or soil to be more exact. For some time he had tried to rest in a coffin full of Japanese soil, imported straight from Japan where he had come from. But after reading into his heritage, he noticed he'd made one fatal mistake. Throughout the two weeks Mista laid dead in the coffin next to his bed, completely sealed shut to ward off any smell, Giorno had mixed in English soil and Japanese soil, until he found the right mixture for a good nights sleep. Mista would need authentic Italian soil. Maybe that's why it was taking so long for him to wake up. 


How insightful those scorched books were! And how interesting their history was. The books weren't any old novels, but research journals that had been salvaged from a house fire over a hundred years ago, saved from becoming nothing but forgotten history. Giorno had the power to get whatever he wanted, and with this it was proof, as the books had once been in possession of a rich lords son, who was an aspiring archaeologist with dreams bigger than Giorno's. As he read through the half burnt book he traced his fingers along the weathered and delicate pages, almost feeling the kindness from the man who wrote them seep into his skin. The author of such findings must've been an educated man, Giorno deduced, and wondered for a time what it would've been like to meet him, after all, every child has a fantasy of meeting their father when they never did. The name inscribed on the inside of the cover was 'Jonathan Joestar', who Giorno had found out was his second father. Giorno always assumed that his lineage was confusing, but the Joestar family tree happened to be a lot more complex than any other he'd seen. The boy has heard of cases where twin brothers had slept with the same woman and had a child with an unknown father out of the two, or cases where cousins had even married in the past despite it being completely outlandish to even think, but this was just plain twisted. Jonathan was his second father by association, as Dio was the man that had used his adoptive brothers body to impregnate his mother.


The more Giorno delved into the rabbit hole that was the bizarre case of Jonathan Joestar and Dio Brando's lives, the more the boy understood about himself. He had retrieved the stone mask a few years ago after travelling to Florida, on what felt like pure impulsiveness as there was no real reason for him to go, especially just after he had taken control of the Italian mafia, but something had drawn him in. Nothing particularly eventful happened while he was out there for two weeks, but it almost felt like something was unwinding, but he wasn't destined to be apart of it, or was simply meant to be on standby in case his help was needed. In a weirdly bitter but fortunate series of events, Giorno didn't have to summon his stand once for the purpose of fighting, but had found the time on his holiday (alone might I add), to visit a car boot sale (1), and as if it were fate was immediately drawn in by the stone mask he had found. As if in a trance, as soon as he'd gotten out of his own car, he mindlessly wondered to the boot of an old and withered man, not stopping to listen to anyone that spoke to him as he passed. The stone mask was neatly placed in the bottom of the boot, so once Giorno was there staring at it he was confused at how he'd even seen it from over where he parked his car, as the car boot sale was in an open-plan field. The old man that must've been selling it almost looked too ancient to be fully alive, and when he spoke Giorno heard the shake in his voice. 


The mysterious stranger explained that he had gotten such a strange mask from his father-who was a Hollywood screenwriter, and his mother had given birth to him a lot later on in life, and had previously trained in something that was new to Giorno called hamon. It was originally in his mother's care, but after she had passed it's real value dropped, and was forgotten, only to collect dust in the attic of their house in New York at the time. But now Giorno had laid eyes on it, and the boy had to stop himself from handing over the wad of cash he carried with him in his wallet, simply because he felt like he needed it to feel whole again, and would pay whatever it took to have it in his possession, which turned out to only be around ten dollars. The boy didn't have time to think twice about the decision, as he'd already thrown the ten dollar bill at the withered old trout before he could draw another breath, and greedily snatched up what he felt was rightfully his and held it close to his chest. It was like a strange fatherly love Giorno had never received as a child. 

Giorno didn't feel a need to be there anymore, and felt satisfied with his purchase, and if the young boy wasn't so caught up in looking over the mask he felt so weirdly attached to, he would've heard the old man say something so queer he might've wanted to stick around and question him some more. 

"You look just like your father." 

After that Giorno became invested in the stone mask, and somewhere along the line had gotten his second fathers notes from a family that went by the name 'Pendleton' in England. With both Jonathan's research and the mask, hand-in-hand, Giorno felt had if he had finally completely a part of the mystery that was how he had come to be, but wasn't nearly as satisfied as he should've been. He needed to find out more. Jonathan had messily written in the back of the last book of notes, that didn't happen to be burnt this time, that "Dio had put on the stone mask on in a shocking display, and shortly after let something else entirely inhumane take over his mortal body", turning it into what Giorno would refer to as a vampire. It finally explained why Giorno wasn't entirely human, and just how his father had managed to stay alive for so long until he met his mother. What appeared to be his fathers last entry in the journal made Giorno frown, as he wished that the research Jonathan had done would carry on forever, as he didn't want to have to part with his father so soon. He wished he could've had a normal family dynamic, and been a ordinary boy born to Jonathan Joestar instead of Dio. 

The last journal entry described Dio's abilities, and Giorno would be lying if he said he wasn't scared for a moment, knowing that when Mista woke up he'd possess such qualities. As it stood, the stone mask was able to gift his father with superhuman strength, speed, incredible endurance, the ability to walk on walls and ceilings, sucking blood through his fingertips and fangs, as well as being able to instantly freeze any object he wanted. He looked over at the coffin Mista resided in and back at his fathers notes. Had he really done the right thing? Giorno felt at least a little guilty, as Mista had died, and without wondering if it was at all what his boyfriend would've wanted, acted on his own accord.


To be frank, Giorno had struck his boyfriend with the old stone mask that hung on the wall, and ever since that perplexing day had been waiting for him to rise from the earth of his fathers ancient coffin. Giorno had shakily taken it from the wall, and without a second thought forced it down onto Mista's gentle, cold face, and almost let out an anguished cry when he saw the masks stone claws dig into the side of his dead boyfriend's face. It had made an audibly disgusting sound, and after hearing Mista's bones crunch Giorno had cringed. There was something-a bright light after that, but the boy couldn't recall much as he'd woken up on the floor what felt like moments later, only for it to have been hours that he was unconscious. By the time he'd gotten up again up off the stone floor of his bedroom, Dio's-or Mista's coffin had been sealed shut, and the stone mask sat nonchalantly beside it. It truly was a mystery as to what had happened, but after prying the coffin open with his own vampiric strength, he saw Mista still laying there unconscious, the stab wounds on the side of his face healed as if he hadn't been impaled at all. As a professional gunslinger whose job was to put his life on the line for Giorno, it was expected that he had scarring from the flurry of bullets he had taken in his time, and if bullet scars were what you were looking for, Mista's body did not disappoint. From his cause of death, he now had a fresh, perfectly circular bullet wound through his neck, that had split at the sides, going across his neck, almost emulating the look of having his throat slit. Apart from such an impressive scar, he had plenty others, all with a story to tell. The man had a small indent in the side of his forehead from being shot in the forehead by a member of La Squadra Giorno didn't care to remember, two exit wounds in his right bicep that had scarred the colour of a deep bruise, and an array of healed bullet holes on his torso and legs. He really did push his body to the limits. 


And because of that fact, Giorno didn't want to rush his 'transformation' back into the world of the living, and wanted to trust the process his father had so throughly researched. In all honesty, Giorno wasn't sure how he was going to break it to the others that Mista had a second chance at being alive (although the term 'alive' was used loosely), and felt rather evil already for not telling them. He had been caught in a lie, which started off purely to save his own skin as he didn't want to tell any of them that he was a vampire, which slowly turned into only Mista knowing...and then Mista dying, leading to his transformation as a vampire as well. Giorno assumed it wouldn't be long until he got to say anything though, for it was fittingly a full moon, and after what felt like a painfully long sleep with the dead, the boy hoped his beloved would awaken soon enough. With a bathroom attached to his room within the shared house, Giorno didn't ever have to leave his room, and for the last two weeks he hadn't much. On a more immature note, Giorno hadn't discussed the abandoned mission any further with his teammates, but instead had silently organised the complete logistics of mission without telling them, eager to tell Mista first. Recently Giorno had left like he was slipping in between the realms of sanity and insanity, but he still had a job to do. If the enemy wanted to attack them directly, Giorno was far too tired and upset to hold back. Stand and Deliver would not make a fool of him this time. 


With a sigh and a sip of his tea, Giorno set down his fathers old journals and looked over towards where his lover had been resting for the last fortnight (2), and smiled tenderly at the view. The curtains in the room had been drawn to let the moonlight in, and the subtle glow of the full moon streamed in through the window, illuminating the subtle curves of Dio's coffin. The emerald that sat on top glistened in the light and looked bright like a star, as if it were guiding Giorno through such a dark, depressing time, and would lift his spirits when he felt low. The boy got up and walked over to where his lover was resting, kissing the black wooden box with care, uttering a small, "we'll be together soon my love" before heading over to the ensuite bathroom. If Mista was going to rise once more at the sight of a full moon, Giorno wanted to prepare himself for his lover. 

He'd been wearing his signature blue suit regularly for the last two weeks, every so often swapping out the colour for a pink one on a good day, but even when he knew his boyfriend was coming back, Giorno still found it hard to feel motivated, for a bitter sadness stung his heart. As he locked the bathroom door and began to undress, the boy couldn't help but feel a little ungrateful, for the stone mask had gifted him with his lover for the rest of eternity, and he still wasn't satisfied, as every second he had to endure without Mista standing beside him was torture. He reached for the cabinet that sat above the sink and opened it, taking out an old matchbox that was almost empty. In recent weeks, Giorno had taken to washing away his troubles in the bath, like the hot water was a blessing to wash away the anguished sins of the day, to the point where nearly all of the matches had been used up. Even the artificial light from a bulb proved to be a bother upon Giorno's tender skin, and the more he pandered to his vampiric needs, the worse they got as he rubbed the patchy, irritated skin on the back of his neck, so he stuck to candles. 


There were a few candle stands littered around the room: one or two near the windows with the shutters drawn, and one close to the bath so the boy could faintly see himself as he washed. With a smooth strike on the side of the box, the match sparked and caught fire, Giorno momentarily watching the hungry flame engulf the flimsy matchstick before lighting the tall candles in their holsters. After they'd all been lit, Giorno blew the match out, looking around at the small room triumphantly, pleased with the sensual yet ominous ambiance he had crafted with the interior design of the room and the gentle glow of the candles. The room had red, Victorian style wallpaper that looked glossy like silk when the light bounced off of the walls, and a black ceiling and dark marble flooring with white swirls through it. There was a dark oak bathroom worktop fitted with a sink, and a tin bath to finish it off. The bathtub was a stand-alone in the middle of the room, almost reminiscent of the shape of a crescent moon, and while Giorno started to fill up the bath, he took to looking in the mirror. 


Giorno frowned, a sorrowful glint in his eyes as he stared back at his reflection. The myths about vampiric lore were true, as his reflection was slowly fading, and ever since he had used the stone mask on Mista his abilities seemed to have amplified. His skin looked translucent, and his body almost sheer, as if he were looking at his reflection in a dirty puddle, nearly to the point he couldn't make out the intricate details on his face. Luckily, his hair was the most apparent thing he could see in the mirror, golden locks being neatly tied into a plait with his three signature curls of hair hanging over his forehead. He reached his hands around and pulled the hair band out, the plait immediately loosening after. Giorno recalled Mista's love for his hair so tenderly, and had thought to always have it down for a time to gain the mans approval, but kept it more practical for work. The boy had only started to tie it up as the women in his class at school had began to bug him about, implore why it had suddenly turned blond and if they could touch it. He'd be lying if he said he said he didn't understand why, as it was soft to the touch like silk, golden as if it had stolen the last ray of sun out of the sky, adorned with such delicate waves that made him look like some kind of femme fatale figure. He thanked his father for that. But after getting his hands on his own stone mask he thanked his father for a lot of things he'd never given him as a child. Both of them. 


He finished pulling the plait out of his hair, and shook his head around gently to rid himself of any extra tangled bits he'd missed. He looked over at the bath half full and back over to the mirror, starting to undo his curls. Little to Mista's surprise the first time he'd seen Giorno take them out, the boy actually had a straight jagged fringe, and only put it in curls when it got too long to wear as a fringe. He used a mixture of hair clay, bobby pins and hairspray to set it, taking and excruciating half an hour to do it each morning, to the point that sometimes the boy chose to sleep with it in, simply adding more hairspray in the morning. Giorno was supposed his hair hadn't fallen out yet from the constant product damage in the fringe, but he tried to avoid the thought as his hair meant everything to him. Finally his curls unwinded and formed a greasy, brittle fringe on his forehead, the boy eager to get in the bath and wash the products away. Yet that wasn't the main reason why. It wasn't even why Giorno had chosen to have a bath. He needed to be ready. 


Looking through the cabinet above the sink, Giorno searched for something to ease him into the bath and enhance the experience, smiling when he found a lavender scented bath bomb. Surprisingly the product was red instead of a lilac which Giorno expected, but he preferred the colour it was, imagining the bath turning a crimson colour, reminiscent of blood. If he could, Giorno would've swam in the blood before he drank it, feeling the warm feeling of a fresh kill on his skin as he swum in the lives of others. The soft candlelight would dance on his blood-stained skin, and the liquid would seep into his hair as if it were wine, ridding him of the burden of being Dio's son with such vibrant blond hair. Giorno didn't want to kill people, and knew morally it was wrong for that's what he had always been against, but he was afraid to admit that recently he felt inclined to change his mind, as it's not like he chose to be a vampire, as it was a deep, carnal need. He could justify his actions if he was killing people that needed to die, Right? If it got in the way of his dream, it was allowed...that way his father would've been proud of him. 

After the bath had finished filling up, Giorno turned the tap off and got everything ready, setting his soaps and shampoos beside the bath on a stall, unwrapping the bath bomb. He gave it a quick whiff, taking in the pleasant floral smell of the lavender with a smile before dropping it into the deep body of water, listening to the noise it made as it plopped into the water, clanking against the galvanised tin material of the tub. Ideally Giorno would've liked a silver bath as he'd always liked the look of it, but as a vampire it surely wouldn't work. It felt as if recently the boy had gotten used to calling himself that. 

A vampire. 


Giorno peeled his blue suit from his sweaty skin, as he'd been up all day and night planning out the logistics of the next attack on the enemy stand users, it now turning more into a crime of revenge than to whatever it was before. All he needed was his beloved to wake up, and then it would all come together as he had predicted. He shimmied his arms out of the sleeves, and threw the blazer to the side, letting the subtle glow of the candlelight dance against his delicate skin, noticing that he was getting paler by the day, almost reminiscent of a milk bottle now. The warm air hit his skin and enveloped his body, causing him to relax as he unzipped his trousers, slowly pulling them down. The way in which he moved seemed so sensual, and for no reason at all, as if someone was watching and the boy was trying to seduce them, swaying his hips as he worked his boxers off of himself, throwing them into the growing pile of clothes. He had been barefoot all day, so he had no shoes to kick off. Giorno still acted as if Mista were there, watching him intently as the boy acted as coy as possible, pulling his clothes off and then running his slender hands down his body. He wanted-no-needed Mista; he needed to hear his tender voice again, needed him to smile warmly like he usually did, needed his touch, his hugs, his love. The list was endless, because quite frankly if it was a quality Mista possessed, Giorno needed it in his life. Giorno loved the other team members, sure, but he often felt like he would be completely lost without Guido. Without him there would be no reason to exist, and that had nearly happened. He needed to be alive for the others, he loved them too much, so Mista needed to be here too. 


He slipped into the bath, the hot water feeling nice on his skin like a hug, as recently he'd felt deathly cold and sighed in relief. Getting into the bath after working at a desk for so long, studying his fathers research intensely was tiring and took a lot of mental effort. He wanted to relax, he wanted Mista to tell him everything was okay and that he'd done a good job, but that fact he couldn't have that yet was crushing. Arguably the feeling of anguish had subsided with time slightly, as he knew now for sure that Mista wasn't dead, but the anticipation was killing him, and seeing your partner die even if they do come back hurt. There was a reason Giorno was settling himself into the bath, and that was because it had hurt. Mista had died but soon he was to return and Giorno wanted to be ready as if it were some kind of ritual to summon the man, lathering up his arms similar to conjuring spells or washing through his hair was like magic. He couldn't help but be excited, as it felt like he had never gotten any time with Mista before his death, as his absence had made Giorno feel week.  Everything had ended as soon as it had started, but really how quick was it? Or did he just not appreciate enough while it was there? He would be sure to do so this time around. Now and forever. 


He scrubbed the suds of soap into his arm and then washed them away, debating dunking his hair under there, but it wasn't like he needed to breath anyway to stay alive, so he did just that to wash his hair. All seemed tranquil in Giorno's ritual, his hair washing and body washing going smoothly, until a loud bang ripped him from his thoughts and startled him. He jumped at the noise and looked over towards the door feeling his heart drop, not knowing whether to ready his hands on the side of the bath to get out or to flinch, his mouth drying up and his heart beat quickening. If it were an enemy, he'd have their life, and if it were his beloved...well he wasn't sure what he'd do. 


It felt like the gravity of the situation had only just weighed down on him, the fact that he had saved his partner from the embrace of death suddenly becoming real to him. The noise sounded like a bang, but it was similar to wood echoing on the floor after being thrown. Dio's coffin was wooden, and Mista was the only one heavy-handed enough to wake up with such little grace and decorum it was almost laughable. Although that wasn't on Giorno's mind as he stared at the bathroom door, not sure if whatever made the noise would rip the door off it's hinges and possibly be a threat. The boy couldn't rule out the possibility that it wasn't an enemy stand user, and in the last week Giorno had become increasingly paranoid over the idea of someone being inside his room with Mista but not him. He reached around for a towel beside the bath, and when he retrieved one he finally stood up, water running down his slender frame and wrapped it around his waist. He didn't care for drying his hair, and quickly patted himself down with the towel, trying to be as quiet as possible as he stepped out of the tub and onto the marble flooring. 


Giorno grabbed the silk dressing gown from its hanger next to the sink, and quickly wrapped it around himself, not caring if he was still dripping wet from the bath. He listened intently through the door, trying hard to concentrate on if there had been any more disturbances since the first one, and to a mixture of Giorno's dread and delight, there was. It definitely didn't some like something, but someone, as the feeble sounds of feet shuffling across the floor could be heard, making Giorno's heart race, and then the momentum of its movements stopped all together, suddenly doing what sounded like sitting down with a loud bang. Unsure of what to do, Giorno debated shouting through the door to ask who it was, but then a terrible chill of fear ran over him. He hadn't locked the door, he was sure of it. Giorno had briefly left his room today, and bumped into Narancia that questioned his motives behind cooping himself up in his room, and the boy did a poor job at hiding that there was anything dubious going on. 


For the most part, Giorno's demeanour had suggested he didn't care at all anymore for his late boyfriends death, as his cheeks were no longer flushed from profusely crying until his head throbbed, and his eyes were no longer sunken in from the painful feeling to desolation. The last time Narancia had seen him was the day after Mista had died, and he hadn't cared to style his hair as the curls sat loosely on his forehead threatened to fall out, and his plait was half undone. He looked weak and small, and if Narancia had known who he was, the boy would've said his boss looked like Haruno again, as if Giorno and his alter ego had swapped places. But when Narancia had laid eyes on him, it looked like nothing had even happened, and that dishevelled state he had seen Giorno in was all a fever dream. The boy looked fine: to begin with. His hair looked freshly washed and plaited, and his suit was newly ironed. His cheeks looked fat and full, and if Narancia had to be nitpicky, he'd say the only different was a terrible paleness in Giorno's skin, as if he were dead. It had confused Narancia, but he was in no position to question his boss, so he simply ignored it and worried himself about it later.


His breath hitched and his hand clutched his dressing gown, feeling cautious to open the  door, but as Giorno manifested Gold Experience the feeling slowly went away. He backed himself against the wall next to the door, and wearily opened the door, letting it swing open after he swiftly moved his hand out the way. The boy kept himself glued against the wall as the door hung open, an ominous air drifting through into the mellow ambiance of the bathroom. The curtains had been drawn, so nothing but the stern glow of the moonlight pierced through the window and illuminated the room, leaving it pitch black where the windows didn't stand. Gold Experience poked its head around and scanned the room for any signs of a break in, but what it saw next made Giorno lose any sort of rationality as he shot up and barged through the door into the bedroom. 



The coffin had been opened.


Mista was awake.


Chapter Text

The coffin had been opened. 


Mista was awake. 


Giorno's heart dropped in his chest, a shake starting in his hands. At first Giorno wondered if Mista had gotten away, but he quickly perished the thought as he heard what sounded like a whimper come from a dark corner of the room. It was a dark clove on the far right, and the boy saw what appeared to be a foot peeking out from the darkness, the moonlight bouncing off of its tanned, olive skin. There was no mistaking it; the foot belonged to Mista, and most likely in a disoriented turn of events woke up from his long sleep and ripped the lid from the coffin off, only to stumble around and find a safe corner to curl up in. Jonathan's research had never described the stone mask having such a strange effect on its user, but Giorno felt like he was in hardly any position to question why it had happened to Mista, after all, a ancient stone mask turning people into monsters wad hardly believable or consistent. 


Giorno felt like calling out to his lover, but decided  against it, as he felt like it'd probably scare him and took to approaching him like you would a scared cat. The boy relaxed his body, and began taking tiny, unnoticeable steps towards them, straining his eyes to see if he could make out Mista's expression, which he couldn't. All he could hear was Mista's unsteady breathing and what sounded like small, nervous growls as if he were a beast in a cage and Giorno was getting ready to poke him with a stick. A spot of worry bubbled deep inside Giorno, as he began to fret that the mask 'awakening him' had some kind of adverse effect, and now he no longer knew who he was or how much of a pivotal role he played in keeping the strongest body of people together in Italy. From just seeing his foot and the top of his ankle, Giorno could tell he was still in his clothes from when he had died, but Mista's hands were clawing at his socks and pulling at his trouser leg, almost as if he was unsure what they were. The closer Giorno got, the more unsure he realised Mista was acting, which amplified his anxiety. Just how much had Mista forgotten to bring with him out of his dreams?


Finally the boy got close enough to see the faint outline of Mista's body, and when he did his heart softened a little at the sight. He had missed seeing his boyfriend-alive and moving, but was upset with the fact that the last time he had was when he was staring back at his boyfriend who looked so terribly guilty in that dreadful alleyway. Giorno still had a small graze from where Mista had shoved him against the wall, and strangely enough had been finding some kind of comfort in it recently. If it fully healed, he'd want Mista to put a new mark on his body. Why was he cowering away? Giorno hated the idea, but he would be lying if he said the thought hadn't cropped up that Mista might not remember who he is, and along with his vampirism came new set of memories and clean personality. The boy hadn't seen Mista's stand yet, which worried him even more, so he decided to summon his own, materialising Gold experience beside him as a sort of peace treaty. Strangely enough he was treating his lover like a scared cat that was backed into a corner, and it admittedly was working as he advanced. 



Giorno lowered himself so he was closer to the floor, crouching down with one knee on the floor but still timidly shuffling over across the stone, calling back Gold experience. The more he advanced, the more the boy could make out Mista's features faintly, and how the man was hugging his knees with his head on top of them, most likely glaring at his lover. He wasn't whimpering so much anymore, and the closer he got the calmer Mista seemed to get. It was almost if Mista was whining out of distress because his boyfriend was far away and he needed to be comforted by his sweet words and gentle aura, and the very thought made Giorno's breaking heart fix itself. Everything was silent: all Giorno could hear was his own ragged breathing until Mista's scared, fragile voice ripped through the air. His heart quickened-his mouth dried-his hands clenched-his pupils dilated! It felt like someone had been holding Giorno's head under some body of oppressive waters for such a long two weeks and finally he had managed to gasp for air. He had heard Mista's voice, and in that moment it suddenly became real that his lover was alive again with him. 


"Where's my sister..?" Mista mumbled in a low, feeble tone, backing into the corner even more then he already was. He was already shaking, and Giorno stopped dead in his tracks as he felt his heart drop. Giorno came to a sudden realisation as he stared at his lover, still not being able to make out his features completely, and it was that Mista had never spoken about his family, or his past for that matter, but insisted he had wanted to eventually, but his job called for shutting his emotions off. Truth be told, Giorno had gone against his boyfriends wishes in the last fortnight in case he never woke up from his deathly sleep, and had looked for Mista's "sister", and whole family as well, but what he found had shocked him. After pulling enough strings, he'd gotten the address of Guido Mista's old family home, and when arriving at it found nothing but a dingy old bungalow that looked like it would fall over if you blew too hard on it. It was situated in the rough part of Naples, only a few miles from where they both lived now, and Giorno's heart broke at the thought of Mista driving past it every so often and pretending it was just another house. The grass outside was dead and littered with broken children's toys, and the majority of the paint on the dirty walls of the house had been chipped off. Giorno had looked into his family history, and it turned out Mista was the oldest of seven children, which you found hard to believe as the oldest were typically the most mature. Giorno shook his head and reached his hand out, still being cautious of touching him. 


"No,'s me...Giorno...?"


Mista cocked his head and moved his body into the faint glow of the light, and in that moment Giorno gasped at the sight. There was no other way to describe Mista but beautiful, as his loose dark curls of hair hung gently on his olive toned forehead, making its way down into a mullet on his neck. It contrasted against his skin that was illuminated by the pale light of the moon, accentuating his facial features. From the bump in the bridge of his nose and the full, wide look of his lips, not mentioning the hypnotic glare of his dark eyes, Giorno almost couldn't get enough, as if he were an ancient wine, yearning to be opened and drank from. His clothes were bloody and grimey, but somehow he still suited them well as he pulled at his trouser legs, staring directly bat Giorno with a childlike curiosity in his eyes. If it were up to Giorno, he would say he was beauty defined. 


"Giorno..." he repeated, shifting onto his knees, moving closer with a sudden burst of confidence, no longer whimpering like a scared child. The events of the last two minutes or so had been so queer, Giorno didn't know what to perceive as real anymore, and as Mista advanced, he felt as if maybe he was dreaming, and soon he'd wake up; disorientated and alone without his lover, and this was all a coping mechanism. There was doubt Mista was confused, especially since he had already broken the bounds of his previous mental torment, and had opened up about his family, speaking as though he was trying desperately to string the events of his life together. Knowing that this name..."Giorno"  was a seem desperately big in the stitches of his life that pulling it out would unravel it all. He got close: Mista bringing his hand up to Giorno's cheek curiously and cupping it gently, an odd sense of satisfaction in his eyes. His hands were cold to the touch just as Giorno were, and with that the boy realised that they would share a cold embrace, only warming each other with the passions of their heart. His skin was gentle like cotton but held the fierceness of a thousand, Mista's thumb stroking the side of his lovers cheek. He studied Giorno's face with a childlike curiosity, lips parted and eyes glistening with intent. 

"I know that name...Giorno..." 

Mista's face got closer, his lips grazing against Giorno's as he studied the face of his boyfriend, a genuine kind of curiosity in his dark eyes as he got closer. 


After the absence of what felt like an eternity, but shaped up to be two painful weeks, Giorno's breath hitched at even the slightest touch, now being no exception. Mista was dangerously close-to the point that Giorno wasn't sure if he could stay in control much longer at the mans advances. That was the thing about love, Giorno had realised, it was like an itch you couldn't reach, a smell you knew but couldn't pinpoint; it was everlasting and irritating if it couldn't be satisfied, and while Mista had been asleep, that was the only feeling he knew like a close friend. So now that Mista was standing close so to his partner like a warm embrace in a storm, Giorno was relieved, as it felt like he could finally breathe again. 

"Guido, don't you remember me?" Giorno pleaded, a somber tone to his voice, grabbing his boyfriends jacket in his hands and pulling on it gently. Mista looked as if he were swallowed in thought, his lips parted gently with a confused look in his eyes. But Giorno looked pained, his eyebrows knitting together in upset as he watched his boyfriend consider the question. He looked away for a moment, but then quickly back to Giorno as if he were ready to give an answer, sliding his hand down from his blushing cheek to his shoulder. 


"Remember you....?" He started, looking away again to the floor almost for an answer, obviously not receiving one as he racked his brain for its previous memories. The way he spoke seemed so different in comparison to usual, or at least the last time Giorno had spoke with the man. Down the windy, dingy alleyways his lover had taken him to fuck a few weeks ago, Mista had spoken in a rough, gritty voice that felt like a knife to Giorno's throat, adding to the fear of the situation as quite literally he had a gun to his head with no saying if Mista's fingers would graze against the trigger too intensely and blow his brains out. His face was grazed still, and that was all the product of the way Guido had acted in that moment: brutal and uncaring, failing to prepare him at all, mentally or physically, and then alongside that speak so harshly to him all in the name of pleasure. It was a roleplay, of course, but it was hardly like Giorno could debriefed from the dubious situation after, but instead received a choked out apology and his boyfriends blood on his hands as he cried. That whole day seemed like a fever dream: Mista dying, the mission being called off, Giorno pulling the gun on that cocky police officer, the striking of the stone mask. But now Mista spoke so gently his voice could've almost been silk, with a strange amount of concern as if he were afraid of offending Giorno. The boys heart dropped as he thought of a million things it could've meant, because of course, just because you are concerned about someone, it doesn't mean you love them. Giorno still at this point didn't know what Mista remembered and what he had forgotten, but the perturbed flare in his eyes that studied Giorno's face as if he were looking at a magnificent piece of art didn't fill the boy with any sense of hope. If Mista didn't remember his yearning love, Giorno would help him remember. The silence was weirdly settling between the two, Giorno enjoying Mista's face twisting and changing with thought until he spoke again. 

"All I remember is that you are definitely someone who is...." he stopped for a moment, considering his words, something Giorno wasn't used to Mista doing until the man edged his lips closer to his lovers, almost so he could speak onto them, flesh to flesh so the boy could feel his thumping heart through his bottom lip.

"...very dear to me." 


Guido's words of affirmation were smooth like satin and sweet like warm milk complimented with a spoonful of honey. The thick Italian accent was different to Giorno's: it was more rough and intense in comparison to the boys that came adorned with a slight Japanese accent. The words rolled off of the mans plump, full lips and ran down Giorno's delicate spine, making him shiver in a kind of bittersweet delight. The sound of his lovers usually gruff voice, as smooth as a bottle of top shelf whiskey was enough to rekindle the dying fire inside his passionate heart, but what Mista's gentle words had entailed was a stab to his ego to say the least. Guido remembered Giorno, sure. Faintly, but he recalled his importance, like he remembered his silhouette against the white walls of their bedroom with the sun streaming in through the half-drawn curtains, and how his smile had made his hardened heart soften, but why he wasn't so sure. Perhaps he was still deluded from his long sleep and dire injuries that had caused this conundrum? Giorno desperately hoped that was the case, and in the morning, or even in a few hours Mista's confusion would be all but a distant memory. 



The way their lips had grazed against each other had made Giorno's cheeks flush, as if Mista's brain was functioning on autopilot-knowing this is what he wanted, but now how he had come to that conclusion. He knew he loved Giorno, but currently not why. He couldn't remember that when Giorno had first joined the passione they worked together well as good friends, and as the boy budded into an adult Mista's feelings grew, and Giorno's were exposed. Couldn't recall that when Giorno had confessed how he felt he spoke so fast he always fainted from feeling so light-headed, how Mista had mindlessly kissed him to calm his nerves and in that moment decided what he felt definitely existed but took no shape. How they had shared over six months of domestic bliss with one another, how that hot, sunny afternoon had lead to Mista's bizarre actions with Giorno's sock, leading to the declaration of his long list of all things kinky. Blood, dubcon, ice....would he remember what was next? Everything weirdly seemed to be slipping out of Giorno's grasp, and all he could do was cling to Mista's top as he watched it happen, not being able to stop himself from feeling so sensitive. 


"You're dear to me alright..." Giorno mumbled onto Mista's lips, his tone half pained and half intoxicated by lust as they forgot the bounds of personal space, Guido's fingers exploring the exposed portion of Giorno's chest after his silk robe had loosened. If someone had seen them, they may have described the scene as some kind of spin off of a version of the beauty and the beast; Mista's hair matted with two-week old dry blood, soiled, rugged clothing that made him look like the typical 'bad boy' from a cheesy 90's love movie, adorned with scarred cuts, scrapes, bullet wounds, his newest looking like a slit throat instead of it being shot through. He knew how to be bold in his beauty as he was handsome and gruff, hardly trying to seem graceful as he held his boyfriends arms tightly. But Giorno was something all together, that was hard to describe with mere words. Mista had a sort of naïve charm, but the boy was the real beauty. His skin was fair like porcelain and soft like silk. His cheeks rosy like a fair maiden and his hair looked as if a goddess as spun the gentle locks of his hair out of the remaining rays of sun. He couldn't stand the sun for long because of his vampiric tendencies, so he decided to carry the memory he had of it around in his hair. His lips weren't full like Mista's, as Dio's English genetics caused him to inherent such features as smaller, thinner lips, blushing cheeks and a fair head of hair, yet the mixture of his mother's genetics had helped him win the generic lottery in his own kind of way. His eyes glistening like stars in the night sky, and his lips were tender and pink. The crimson colour of the silk robe that hung lazily on his shoulders was representative of the mans hungry, red-hot desire as their lips met, any kind of rationality seeping out of their minds as they focused on the feeling of a passionate kiss, not really knowing how they got there but definitely not regretting it. 



Somewhere along the line their kisses turned into something deeper than a simple kiss, the wet sound of their lips connecting and moan moans muffled by Mista's tongue almost forcing its way down Giorno's throat. They knew what they were doing-it was muscle memory by now. Mista's hands would wonder from Giorno's cheek endearingly, gradually getting lower as lust drowned him, dirty thoughts consuming his rationality, and Giorno would take it like a cheep needy whore, revelling in the feeling of simply being desired, after all, what a wonderful feeling that is-to be needed. He hadn't felt needed recently. But Mista was back, and he could teach him how to be treasured again. Their kiss was like a fever: hot and delusional, putting Giorno under a spell as Mista's fat lips attacked his own, acting on their own as he wasn't exactly sure yet who Giorno was. Mista's kiss truly felt like magic, even with the bittersweet taste of blood lingering in his mouth, reminding Giorno of what had happened as Mista's hands traveled down to his slender hips. 

Giorno pulled away for a moment, not as used to such an intense kiss like Mista was, the man obviously being a lot more experienced in that area. One thing Giorno had learnt about Mista was that he absolutely loved to make out, and had expressed his desire for it while awkwardly fiddling with his hardening cock in his boxers at one time, having to go to the bathroom shortly after for a "toilet break" as Giorno had remembered, and the boy supposed that he was living his fantasy as he devoured the boys lips, leaving no room for air. Giorno had broken away for a moment, but it didn't seem like Guido was in the mood to compromise, a more primal reaction to his arousal taking over after waking from his sleep, the stone mask obviously knowing no bounds when it came to rationality. In simple words, the stone mask has turned Mista into a monster, and Giorno had willingly done that to him, but was hardly regretting it as Mista dominated his every thought. Just like before, Mista was being forceful, but it was secretly what Giorno preferred. When you spend your life being better than everyone else around you, and in Giorno's job this being increasingly apparent, the feeling to being cheap and used was something to savour like wine. The boy wasn't sure how he'd gotten here in such little time, in one moment coaxing his boyfriend out of a dark and dingy corner as he shook, the next peeling his lips from his own, ignoring the ache beneath his robe. 

"Guido..." Giorno whined, finally pulling away to catch his breath and not being forced back into a kiss moments after, looking up at Mista with want. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was messy and wet, his fringe sticking to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and bath water. Mista tilted his head, reminiscent of a curious dog and looked down at his boyfriend, going to grab his jaw to pull him into another hungry kiss, but Giorno placed his fingers to his boyfriend's lips to urge him to stop. He needed to catch his breath before he spoke, emphasising the importance. Momentarily Mista wondered if Giorno hadn't enjoyed his kissing skills, but what GioGio whined out next surprised him. 

"Just take me already..." 


There wasn't much need to convince him otherwise, as it had barely been a second before Mista was ripping Giorno's cherry-red robe from his slender waist and threw it to the cold floor, pushing his shoulders forward in an attempt to make Giorno step back from him, this working straight away as the don had a submissive look on his needy face. Mista was breathing heavily, and for no apparent reason, but god was he making Giorno aroused as his dick twitched under nothing, the boy suddenly becoming aware of his nakedness. The feeble moonlight danced across Giorno's gentle skin, and the sight made Mista greedy, wanting to do more than stare as he licked his lips. At this point, Mista was acting more like some kind of animal, any rational thoughts taken over by pure desire and instinct. 

Giorno was retreating backwards as Mista approached, trying to get closer to Giorno so he could take him, but the boy was playing hard to get. For a moment the moonlight would reflect off of Giorno's skin, and then suddenly he'd be consumed in darkness where there wasn't a window, each time he passed another window shocking Mista all over again with his beauty. Mista was a hunter, and Giorno was being hunted, their eyes never leaving  each other's gaze as the tension in the air threatened to swallow them both whole. Giorno wasn't sure why he felt threatened in such an odd way as Mista approached him, his breathing getting gradually more heavy as the seconds passed, but all he knew was that it was making his exposed dick twitch from arousal and his cheeks grow hot from anticipation. Mista had tried to reach his hands out to Giorno's hips, but like a game of cat and mouse the boy swatted them away, grinning as he played along with Guido's game. He had never felt like this before-so strongly for another person and he was ready to let it consume him. 


His feet dragged along the cold, stone floor as he retreated backwards, but after walking backwards for what felt like an eternity his ankle hit something hard, causing him to curse as he fell back on it. His vision became blurry as he fell backwards, but he could tell the smirk that pulled at his lips hadn't left, as if this was his plan all along. There was a sudden drop in his stomach as he fell back, tripping over what he found out was the coffin Mista had been residing in, falling back on the bed soil with a surprised yelp, groaning in pain as his knees and elbows whacked against the wooden frame of the coffin. It was ungraceful, and the way Giorno was spread out in the coffin wasn't seductive in the slightest, swearing at the feeling of dirt rubbing against his ass just after he'd gotten out of the bath, but Mista didn't seem to mind, chuckling at his boyfriend's misfortune. Giorno went to string a series of curses at Mista and throw them out at him, but the smug look on his face was far too handsome to moan at. Damned dogs men are. 


Mista's demeanour had completely changed in the last five minutes or so, as if he were remembering more and more about who he used to be, and would continue to be, although he seemed more consumed by his primal instincts instead of actually thinking his actions through, but that might've just been the fact he was desperately horny with his semi hard cock pressing against his tight jeans, making Giorno gulp. God he wanted to sit up straight, and considering he'd be eye level with Mista's crotch, let the man face fuck him until he cried. Who was this compared to the man that was cowering in the corner no more than six minutes ago? 

Just like he desired, Giorno quite literally brushed the dirt from his elbows and sat up, being greeted with the outline of Mista's cock and bit his lip in anticipation. Mista knew what he wanted too, and was definitely up for feeding Giorno's fantasy of giving his first blowjob. It gave Mista a chance to try out one of his favourite kinks he was surprised he hadn't done first. 

"Go on them...Giorno." Mista commanded experimentally, still not completely sure of how confident his old self previously was. 

"You want to suck me off, right? I can see it in your desperate, cute little face~" 

Giorno nodded, looking up at Mista with a coy look slapped across his face before a grin-eating shit spread across his face. 

"You've never done this before...have you?" Mista asked, still unsure of a few things, and in response Giorno nodded, looking away with embarrassment. The shameful look in his eyes sending the blood from Mista's cheeks and to his cock. 

"It's okay. You can practice. Just shut your eyes and hum and you'll take me well." 


While Mista was instructing Giorno on what to do, the boy was nodding intently, listening to Mista's gruff voice as he rested his hands painfully close to the growing bulge in Mista's jeans. Before Giorno could get a word in, Mista carried on, smirking-one that sent a shiver down his boyfriend's spine wirh delight. 

"I want to try something...I'm pretty sure I haven't before my lovely~".


For a moment Giorno didn't say anything, simply staring at the outline of Mista's cock and fantasising about all the things it could do to him, like his throat, his thighs, his desperate ass, wondering if this was really happening, as giving head was something he'd always secretly wanted to do, but never had the gall to ask. Mista noticed his boyfriends ogling and patted the side of the boys cheek to bring him off of could nine. 

"Come on sweetheart, don't get distracted now~" 

Giorno cleared his throat out of embarrassment, looking away momentarily as he blushed at how cocky and confident Mista sounded as he almost purred out his words, knowing exactly what to say to drive his lover insane. The whole situation was confusing, but both of them hardly cared at this point, lust taking over them as their cocks both hardened. 


It was clumsily, and he was nervous, but he took no time in ridding Mista of his belt, unbuckling it first and then throwing it off to the floor, which was more effort than it was worth, earning an embarrassed chuckle from Giorno. Mista didn't say anything though, only stroking the top of his boyfriends head with a smile as he looked around for a second, clocking something and then smiling all the wider. Giorno was going to ask what had caught his interest, but was too interested in pulling Mista's boxers down to actually form a coherent sentence, feeble mumbles escaping his trembling lips. After a second glance, Giorno admired the glow in Mista's eyes as the moonlight reflected in them, making him look all the more attractive, even at a time like this when the man was spitting out filthy things to say to his boyfriend that was about to suck his cock. The way he stood looming over the coffin reminded Giorno of a phantom that might've haunted the end of his bed as a child, stood motionless without much sound, and with that thought the Don had to rethink the whole situation and whether or not it was real. Mista was alive, wasn't he? This was real? Giorno didn't get to keep the thought long though, as Mista did something that definitely snapped him back to reality as he let his hand travel up the back of Giorno's head, grabbing a fistful of his hair snd yanking it back. 


Giorno yelped more from shock than pain, but the mixture of both made him sound pathetic, his face suddenly looking up towards the ceiling as Mista had yanked relatively hard on his hair, probably pulling a few strands out, but it was damaged anyway. Quickly Mista loosened his grip so Giorno could lower his head at least to look at him, the two men sharing an intense gaze for a few moments before Mista smirked once more and broke the silence again. 

"Stick your tongue out like this for me", 

he instructed, showing Giorno just what he was talking about by sticking out his tongue and opening his mouth, emphasising what he meant by going "ahhhh" along with it. Obediently Giorno complied, not really thinking anything of it, half expecting Mista to shimmy himself out of his jeans and stick his cock down Giorno's throat while it was still slightly soft so the boy couldn't help but choke on it hardening in his mouth. But what Giorno didn't expect was Mista to collect the salvia on his tongue and spit it directly into Giorno's mouth, treating him like some kind of cheap whore that wasn't even worth the shit on his shoes. The sudden sensation of being used like that was a shock, but enthralling to say the least as Giorno gasped at the feeling of Mista's hot, stringy spit mix with his own in his mouth as he swallowed it. As far as kinks went, Giorno had never even considered spit to be an option, or any bodily fluid for that matter until a few weeks ago when him and Mista had dabbled in his blood kink, and since then they'd been making their way through Mista's list painfully slow. Giorno had counted three that they had tried together: ice, blood, and dubcon roleplay, these three things alone brining them closer in more than one way, essentially being a positive influence on the state of their relationship (which was mostly healthy), and as much as Giorno appreciated the feeling of Mista's warm spit in his mouth making his dick ache, he realised this probably wasn't the fourth kink they'd try out on the list.



The spit flustered Giorno, and so much so that he hadn't noticed Mista's patience snap as he unzipped his own trousers, the sound getting the boys attention again as his partner pulled them down to the middle of his thighs, the only thing in between Giorno's lips and Mista's throbbing cock being the thin material of his underwear. Giorno stared at the bulge in Mista's boxers hungrily, remembering the last time he had gone to suck his dick was before their fatal fight, all leading to Mista's death. All Guido did was look down as if he were staring at a pile of rubbish, finally smirking as Giorno's fingers crept around the hem of his boyfriends boxers, looking up shyly for approval before pulling them down after Mista nodded. Similarly to Mista's jeans, Giorno pulled his boxers down to the middle of his thighs, exposing his half-hard cock. Giorno had seen his boyfriends dick before, and he was no stranger to its size, especially after he'd stuck it in raw with little preparation in the alleyway a few weeks ago, but he'd be lying if he said he'd ever seen it so close before, gulping at the thought of taking it in his throat. He'd thought it before, but Mista was decently sized-not massively big but not small either, but the thickness of it suddenly seemed to be an issue as Giorno thought of the size of his mouth...and then the size of his partner. Guido looked pleased at how worried the boy suddenly looked, arousal taking over as he ruffled Giorno's hair to purposely try and patronise him, something Mista found extremely hot. That look of annoyance and fear on Giorno's pretty little face. 


"Now get it in your mouth darling" Mista purred, making a point of speaking in a cocky tone, slightly kissing his teeth as he did. The man didn't have all his memories yet-what he remembered resided faintly on the wrong side of the wet windows inside his mind, water droplets resembling anguished tears as they trickled slowly as though they were thick like blood. Not entirely clear, but visible. Yet what he did remember was his desire, and how that took the form of idolising Giorno in such a degrading way. And to much surprise, Giorno was completely under his spell as he wrapped his hand around the base of Mista's cock, the nerves suddenly amplifying at the fear of doing it wrong. Yet strangely, the fear was something GioGio had found arousing. He was sure Mista could hit him and it'd feel as beautifully intoxicating as a kiss. Mista had briefly done this to him once, so he mostly unsure on what to do next after taking his cock in his hands, but all Giorno did was hope that the copious amounts of porn he had watched as a not so proud teenager would at least give him some kind of idea of what to hard could it be, right? Pay attention to the tip of the dick most, every so often pulling up to focus on it, make sure you cup their balls as you do it, open your mouth so your teeth don't enter the mix and every so often...try not to gag? It was safe to say that perhaps Giorno had read far too many erotica novels as well as the whole watching porn fiasco. 


Nervously Giorno inched his face closer to Mista, still trying to process the events of the last few minutes, and how not even an hour ago he was taking a relaxing bath, and now he was sat naked in a coffin about to give his first blowjob. With his hand wrapped around the base of Mista's cock, Giorno placed a gentle kiss on the end of his tip and looked up, his boyfriend looking down at him as he smirked, wetting his lips straight after. It felt strange to Giorno, but he would be lying if he said the thought of Mista using his face as nothing but a hole to fuck turned him on, and with that thought, he'd wondered when he had turned into such a pervert. He was certain when he agreed to Mista's long list of kinks it was purely out of morbid curiosity, but now he wasn't so sure. As the Don of the whole mafia, you get used to using people, and for once being used felt enthralling. Giorno used his tongue to experimentally lick up the tip of Mista's cock, and the feeling made Mista's grip on the back of Giorno’s head tighten. It was safe to say that the boy definitely wasn't expecting the taste he was greeted with, but the act of pleasuring his boyfriend made up for it as he repeated the action of using his tongue a few times until he wanted to try something new. 


As he took the head of Mista's dick into his mouth, the man above him let out what sounded like a sigh of relief, stepping forward slightly. The boy sucked on it gently since he was scared of doing something wrong, his hand still on the base of his cock to hold it up. 

"You're doing good," Mista's started, stroking the Giorno's hair while he very nonchalantly sucked on the end of his dick, looking up at the man as he broken the silence of only slurping sounds that filled the room. 

"Make sure to swirl that pretty little tongue of yours around, yeah?"

Giorno blushed, embarrassed by his own inexperience and did exactly what Mista had instructed like an obedient dog, swirling his tongue around Mista's head, feeling the size of it stretch around his lips, Giorno feeling unaware of how the rest of it would fit down his throat. With his tongue moving more consistently now Mista's face relaxed, a smirk wiping off of his lips as they parted, small gasps leaving them as he focused on the sensation. Giorno still wasn't sure what he was doing, but squeezed his own thighs together for the friction, his cock aching, begging to be touched as it went devoid of attention. The boy whined, desperate to touch himself as his own cock hardened, putting one of his hands on Mista's hip to steady himself, and his other laid flat on the bed of dirt beneath him. 


He still wasn't used to the whole experience, but Giorno figured he couldn't stay fixated on Mista's tip until he came, although the grunts that escaped the mans lips definitely didn't sound like they were from displeasure as he rolled his hips in towards Giorno's mouth, gently pushing further down into his throat. One of his dirtied hands grasped the back of the boys head, ready to take a fistful or hair if he felt generous, because quite frankly, Giorno would have to be thankful if Mista face-fucked him, because that's what an owner did to its slave. And although that dynamic had never been discussed, it lingered in the air and became them. Giorno owned everything apart from Mista's dominance and Mista had nothing but Giorno's submission, so the fact of being reduced to nothing but a play-thing made Giorno desperately horny. Giorno assumed the push to the back of his head, even if it was only slightly was Mista's silently begging for more, so with that the boy took more of the cock into his mouth, tracing the base of his tongue along a vein that traveled up the length of Guido's dick, which made the mans breath hitch. It tasted salty from sweat, and slightly bitter, Giorno having to shut his eyes so he could focus on the size and not the taste, yet the thickness of it was making it hard to take anymore into his mouth without gagging. Giorno wasn't sure anymore that the rest of it was going inside of him, but as Mista's partner he knew the man would find a way-Mista being more than forceful and Giorno loving it was just a normal part of their sex life, but it also reminded the boy of how inexperienced he truly was as he pushed his head down more. 


Mista's fat cock bulged in Giorno's throat already, hardly half of it in the boys mouth, and with a small push of Mista's hand on the back of his head, Giorno realised how hard it was to actually take a dick in his mouth. It's easy to think you could suck a dick and take it all, not a gag in your throat or tear in your eye, but once's Mista's thickness was stretching around Giorno's lips, he was finding it difficult to concentrate on not gagging, luckily without tears streaming down his face. He was holding up well, but after looking up at Mista's face he found it hard to hold back. Mista's face was washed over with a primal kind of urgency: as if his words and forceful actions were nothing but muscle memory-nothing but a memory from who Guido was previously that he was borrowing from his past self as a human. Giorno wanted to compare him to a dog, or any kind of wild beast for that matter, that only seemed to know what he was doing if it was his instincts that were in control. He found comfort in his boyfriend after waking up, and let his libido get the better of him, the chances of him regressing back to his previous pathetic state that he was found in not even half an hour ago more likely than not. Giorno hadn't read anything in Jonathan's research about this kind of effect, but the boy didn't really want to think about his father during such a passionate situation. 


Giorno wrapped his hand around the base of Mista's dick, his other snaking up to his boyfriends hip instead of his thigh to steady himself as he pushed his head down further. With enough patience and concentration, Giorno managed to fit Mista's (nearly) whole cock down his throat, which was felt slightly demeaning in a way as the boy was sure he'd never concentrated half as hard in any of his classes before he dropped out of school. The boy slowly moved his hand from Mista's base, instantly shoving his head down further to take its entirety past his lips, Giorno's brows furrowing as the unpleasant feeling of his throat being stuffed, that being all he could focus on. He moved his trembling hand down to Guido's balls, taking them gently in his hand as he dragged his desperate lips up his boyfriends shaft, almost wanting to sigh in relief at the feeling of not wanting to gag. Mista simply watched, his hand still on the back of Giorno's head, most likely not thinking of anything but the feeling of getting his dick sucked as a guilty look flooded GioGio's face, as the feeling of having the entire length of Mista's cock in his mouth was uncomfortable sure, but all he could think of is a time in the future where here could take it effortlessly, and how pitifully hard that made him as precum beaded on the tip of his dick. 


His tongue travelled lustily across the length of Mista's cock until the boy got to the tip of it again, lazily repeating a routine of messily swirling his tongue around the head, earning the most groans from the man above him, but then moving his head back down to take Mista (or at least most of him) without gagging. Giorno had heard somewhere that men liked it when you didn't gag on them, because it took away from the actual feeling of them fucking your face, but each time the boy had managed to fit Mista's cock past his lips pathetically without gagging, scrunching up his eyes at the feeling, the man seemed to have an almost disappointed look dust across his face as his grip on Giorno head got tighter. And as much as Giorno liked to satisfy his boyfriend's needs submissively, with no questions asked, there was a certain ache in his jaw that wouldn't let up as the thickness of the cock had forced him to open his mouth wide enough to fit it in without his teeth scraping against it, almost having to pop his jaw slightly. 


"You just keep your mouth open like that, okay babe?" Mista cooed, a chuckle escaping his lips slightly as he watched his lover around him, waiting for him to look up. 

"...mph..?" Giorno managed to get up, looking up at Mista with a coy look on his face, his cheeks going a deep red while his eyebrows knitted together. 

The hum in Giorno's throat that came from his failed attempt at talking made Mista’s mouth hang open as he put his head back slightly, an almost surprised moan escaping his lips as he rolled his hips forward, his pubes pressing into Giorno's face. His eyes fluttered shut, but with that he had an idea-something he had forgotten from earlier coming back. Still, Mista was sure he hadn't tried this yet with his boyfriend, yet his fragmented memories still made it hard for him to deduce whether or not that was true...yet there was no harm in trying. 


"Fuck-your throat clamped around me then-just-" 

With the way he was talking Giorno realised he must've certainly enjoyed the feeling, half tempted to do it again. 

"-Stay there baby."

Giorno didn't listen, but carried on sucking his boyfriend, taking more and more of Mista inside of him-inch by inch until Mista groaned in annoyance, finally using the hand he had on the back of Giorno's head and shoved his head down. Giorno scrunched his eyes shut, a gag escaping his throat as his mouth was stuffed, tears threatening to prick his eyes at the feeling. The boy hadn't been expecting Mista to abuse his face so suddenly, and moved both of his hands to Mista's hips, trying to steady himself so he could regain control, but after a few moments of struggling the boy realised his attempts were futile. Mista obviously had different ideas in mind. 


There was a sting in Giorno's scalp as the man above him messily collected his golden locks in a tangled ponytail, something the boy remembered Mista would often do tenderly in the mornings they would spend together, love consuming their every thought. It was bittersweet. This wasn't like Mista, or at least the Mista Giorno had known for the last three years as he gave a domineering glare, collecting Giorno's ponytail in a tight fist, pulling his silky soft hair above his head as if he were trying to hang him up by it. The pain in his hair follicles made Giorno wince, confusion threatening to swallow him whole as his head was being held so aggressively his one hand while his arms were being shoved away from his boyfriends hips with the other. It was clear Mista didn't want Giorno to have any leverage, only his first balled in his hair harshly holding him up like he was some kind of useless dog. All Giorno could see was Mista's midriff, and how his dark curls peeked out from where his trousers would start, his v-line sharp and defined, making the boy blush. He could see the faint outline of Mista's dick, and how his olive skin almost seemed to glow in the feeble moonlight, yet it wasn't for long as Giorno's eyes went wide. The feeling of gagging had suddenly filled his throat as did Guido's cock with a thrust, Mista's pubes pressing against GioGio's nose, the mans balls on his chin. He had no time to adjust to the size of the fat cock in his mouth as Mista began to mercilessly thrust himself into Giorno, revelling in the sound of Giorno's desperate gags. 


His hands in a desperate plea to slow down tried to snake up to Giorno's hips, the boy not really wanting him to stop but doing it without thinking was rudely stopped as Mista slapped his hands away with his free one, the other still holding up Giorno's head by his hair. 

"You keep those hands to yourself babycakes~" he started, groaning into his words, sounding almost like a growling dog. 

"Just keep that mouth open and tongue out" 

And obediently Giorno did just that, trying his best to keep his teeth hidden and tongue out as Mista fucked his face. Giorno was almost ashamed that he was willing to let this happen as his boyfriend fucked his mouth, his dick hitting the back of Gio's throat. With each push, Mista's cock edged further into Giorno, the boy feeling all the more pathetic. Hopeless gags filled the room, along with the sloppy sound of Mista's balls slapping against Giorno's chin that was sodden with his own saliva. He couldn't swallow his spit, and like a dirty whore he let it happen, becoming nothing but a mouth for his boyfriend to fuck while Mista groaned without shame, letting the lust swallow him whole. He scrunched his eyes shut, trying hard not to throw up as he continued to gag. Although Giorno would be lying if he hadn't wondered if something like puke was on Mista's kinky list, as blood and dubcon already had been, and if Mista was willing to play around with one bodily fluid, why not the others? Giorno couldn't say he'd ever thought of it, but he'd definitely thought about this: getting face-fucked like a dirty slag-his mouth open and desperate with his hands down by his side. Finally he was experiencing his fantasy, and as much as the feeling of gagging with every thrust began to get uncomfortable after awhile, the idea of being used without being asked first was enthralling. 


Mista had gone quiet for a moment, and Giorno was half tempted to look up as his thrusts had gotten gentler with time, the gagging becoming less frequent and his eyes had stopped watering. 

Giorno thought he had gotten used to the feeling at least a little, his boyfriends dick hitting the back of his throat time and time again without fail, his chin dripping with spit and tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. The boy would say he had gotten used to much a strange sensation, when his mind was ripped away from being used, the sting from his hair being pulled feeling like nothing in comparison to the burn he felt on his shoulder. His eyes flung open, hearing Mista chuckle in a low voice as he saw the fear on Giorno's eyes, not being able to see what hurt so badly on his shoulder, but mainly because the candle that had illuminated near the coffin had been snatched from his holder, hovering above Giorno's collarbone. Giorno didn't have time to process the initial sting from the wax that was being poured onto him from the candle before the next load dropped down onto his bare flesh. The skin of a vampire was typically cold like the dead (as they practically were), but slowly he became burning hot with passion, the wax hardening in place, the pain suddenly subsiding for a moment while it pooled in the dips of the boys collarbones until Mista noticed the look of comfort come back to his boyfriends face, moving the candle to a new spot. 


His skin by nature was pale like paper, but now the crimson wax had defiled him, like fresh blood splattering against a blanket of virgin snow. Giorno's flesh looked splotchy with heat rash, and felt sore from the burns. He wanted to wince-cry out in pain due to the feeling, but his throat was already preoccupied with being abused by Mista's cock-all he could do was let out muffled cries that only spurred Mista on more. The more there was an erratic hum in Giorno's throat, the more the other mans cock twitched from the feeling, thrusting into his mouth roughly, having no care or second thought about the tears that fell from Giorno's eyes. Sounds of gags and sloppy slurping filled the room, the echo only making Giorno feel all the more embarrassed as he heard his own mouth suck his boyfriend off. What made the wax being dripped across his shoulders all the more painful was the fact he could hear it plopping onto him, each time feeling like a pin prick that only got worse as it hardened, hardly having time to subside as there was a continuous stream of wax. 


Mista was adamant that he'd burn the candle right down to the bottom of the wick before he was going to cum, a look of wild content in his eyes as he used Giorno like a toy, pouring red hot wax all over his shoulders, occasionally letting it drip down his arms, gardening before it could reach his elbows. He wouldn't let Giorno finish, and that was all part of his play: dominating and controlling every aspect of his partner during sex. He control him as his cock twitched deep inside his throat, and controlled him all the more as he inflicted pain on Giorno one burn at a time with the hot wax, knowing secretly the boy took pleasure in being reduced to nothing but a plaything for Guido to experiment with. Mista felt a familiar sensation in his dick, like he was going to cum soon, but pulled himself out of his boyfriend, wanting wholeheartedly to finish burning the candle before he finished himself. Giorno gasped, as if this was his first and only chance to take a breath. He wheezed slightly, his breathing fast and deep, but he didn't get much time to catch his breath before Mista pulled his face up to look at him by his hair. 


Giorno didn't know what was worse: the fact that he knew he wasn't cumming tonight or the feeling of molten hot wax meeting the sensitive skin on his cheek as his lover smirked, as if he were looking down at his own artwork in a gallery. Because there was nothing to muffle him, Giorno freely let out a whine in pain-the burning sensation proving to be a lot harder to withstand on his cheek than on his shoulders, but he got no choice in the say either. Of course, if he really wanted Mista to stop he knows he could've, but deep down he knew he was enjoying the animalistic look on his boyfriends face. 

"Is this...part of your list too..?" Giorno whined, a small hiss from the pain escaping his lips. 

Mista looked at Giorno in thought for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what the boy had meant by "his list", but soon a smirked creeped out from his teeth, one that almost looked confused. He was smirking, but the man wasn't sure what for yet. 

"My list.." Mista mumbled experimentally

"I remember that too.."

The wax continued to greet Giorno's face, the boy underneath him writhing in pain, almost desperate to take Mista's cock in his mouth again so he could go back to feeling the burning liquid on his shoulders once again. And lot long after, the man used one hand to push his dick back into the boys mouth, purring out his words. 

"I'm such a naughty boy~"



The candle had melted down enough for Mista to carry on as he started thrusting into Giorno's mouth again, the boy not missing the feeling of gagging so often but preferring it over wax burning his face while it hardened in his skin. It was so hard to tell if was Giorno enjoying himself, as he was never willing to admit to himself what he truly liked, hence the idea of Mista's lost in the first place, but ever so secretly he loved it, and would make sure to do it again. But for now, all the man was focused on was making his boyfriend cum, that was all. 


Giorno didn't know what to focus on-the feeling of the wax or the dick, and hardly did as he went into a state of pure bliss strangely enough. He had gotten out of the bath clean with his hair brushed through and prepped. But now he was covered in his own salvia and wax, his hair tangled in his boyfriends fist and his fringe stuck to his forehead from sweat. Pathetically he tried to mumble something under his breath, but all it did was make Mista's cock twitch from the feeling of his throat clamping around him, earning a needy moan from the man as he thrusted deeper into GioGio's mouth. By the way Mista was thrusting his hips, Giorno could tell he was going to cum soon, and he'd get to swallow it without a second thought. 


"I-I'm cumming...!" Mista gasped under his breath, shutting his eyes as the feeling of his orgasm consumed him. His tone of voice had taken less of an dominant flare and more submissive in its nature, as if he could finally let go of the act he'd put on, and could go back to how scared and vulnerable he felt before, feeling more unaware then he did comfortable. This whole situation seemed confusing, but Giorno wasn't exactly focused on that as he readied himself for Mista's load. 

With a choked moan, Mista came hard down Giorno's throat, shoving his head right down to the base of his cock, keeping him there by pressing his hands against the back of the boys head, making sure he couldn't pull away from air. It earned one last gag from Giorno, that was half from the surprising taste of Mista. It was bitter-and tasted like salty sweat but ten times worse, a prime example of Mista's bad diet.  He wanted to spit it out once his partner removed himself from his mouth, but the thought of what he would say made Giorno painfully hard. 

"Swallow bitch, good boys do as they're told." 


With a few more shallow thrusts, making sure Mista had completely milked himself, he pulled out, letting Giorno gasp for air, but the feeling of cum in his throat caught his breath and make him choke. Mista let out a breathy laugh, letting go of the boys hair, and in turn began affectionately stroking his head. He leant down and kissed the top of his forehead, letting Giorno melt into his chest with a sigh, letting the wax crumble off of his skin. 


It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

"Did you really want to go see your sister?"

And so the two lovers Giorno and Mista were plunged into a world of darkness, far away from any sense of humanity as a tranquil air lingered in the room gently. Not a word was spoken, and everything had seemingly returned to its calm, easy atmosphere again, there no longer being any kind of tension seeping from the coffin as Mista had woken up, and seemed to have returned to his usual passive demeanour as he held Giorno. In relation to the coffin, both men laid serenely on top of Mista's bed of dirt, Giorno laying his head feebly on top of his boyfriends strong chest, a pleasant silence hugging them. The man sat with his arm around his partners, pulling the boy's small, pale shoulder in towards his pecs, olive skin contrasting against Giorno's milky skin tone. It had been so long since Giorno had seen the sun, he'd almost forgotten what it's alluring face looked like, the colour in his cheeks having been drained what felt like years ago. GioGio's cheek pressed against Mista's breast-bone, their skin sticking together in the muggy air of the room, the boy enjoying the feeling of Mista's chest rising and falling with each steady breath he took, shutting his eyes to concentrate on the feeling.

Mista seemed to be deep in thought, considering what Giorno had said for a moment, parting his lips and drawing in a breath. He went to speak, but stopped abruptly, nothing but a stale exhale filling the room before he held his breath to think. The sudden silence made Giorno look up gently at his boyfriend, enjoying the domestic bliss that was simply lying on you lovers chest and asking them a question as Mista began to speak again in a nonchalant tone. 

"yeah, I have a few."

Giorno had held his breath waiting for the response, and sighed through his nose in relief when his boyfriend replied, yet he was shocked he had spoken about his family as well as his past so fluently. Had Mista forgotten who he was? Giorno remembered Mista saying many moons ago that he would talk about his past when he "felt ready", yet nothing had ever come from such a distant conversation, and the boy didn't pry any further. It was a trivial thought: Mista growing up alongside a "few" sisters, having silly sibling squabbles over small things like eating each others food, or going on family holidays, giggling together way past their bedtime. As the oldest, Giorno could only assume it was where he got his protectiveness from, and only then did the thought cross the boys mind that Mista may have acted so quickly and without much thought when he was imprisoned because of the idea of that being one of his sisters entered his head before pulling the trigger. With such a simple phrase, "I have a sister", Giorno realised how little he actually knew about his boyfriend, which made Giorno frown as he buried his head into Mista's chest, thinking too harshly on the subject, Mista staring up at the ceiling while he rubbed Gio's shoulder with his hand. Guido had lived a whole eighteen years before meeting Giorno, and the selfish thought of his boyfriend not caring for him or having sugary eyes for another made the boy feel childishly petty as he pouted into Mista. the man chuckled, reading Giorno's expression without even seeing his face, then rubbing his back endearingly. He had been sentenced fifteen to thirty years for four counts of first degree murder, and had been in prison for roughly a year when he was released, and judging by Mista's devil-may-care attitude he definitely wouldn't of been able to appeal for parole after seven years. Bruno had said once that "guys like him didn't last two years in prison" and for awhile Giorno had wondered what that meant, but now he thought he knew. There was so much Gio didn't know about Mista, but sometimes it didn't seem hard to fill in the gaps. He could be snotty and aggressive, but he was respectful towards his women, and unlucky by nature.

Once again Mista broke the silence,

"I remember them so clearly..."


The man's face looked so consumed with worry, that Giorno sat up, resting his hand on the mans chest. It came as a shock to the boy-as Mista hadn't been able to recall his own boyfriends name a few hours ago after waking up, but could remember memories from years ago so vividly. After pulling up the police records with the help of Abbacchio, Gio noticed there had been no attempt to pay off Guido's bail before Bruno, and no sign of family or even friend's at his trial, so the boy wondered what kind of relationship he had with his parents. Giorno had found out that his mother was neglectful but loving in her own way, while his father worked a lot and was never home, so the boy didn't expect much, but definitely not nothing. His father constantly worked, and his mother didn't want to know, sneaking off every night to do anything but raise her children, which reminded Giorno of his own mother. He most likely cooked for them, which explained why he was such a good cook, bathed them, dressed them, walked them to school, and helped them in their studies. Giorno could almost understand why he acted like such a delinquent in his free time if that's the level of responsibility he had been lumped with at such a young age. The boy debated going to Mista's parents home and telling them himself that he was dead, but he wanted to wait until his boyfriend had woken up. Giorno wasn't sure what it was like to worry about his own family, as God's own mother was less dear to him, but he supposed Mista worried himself about his family, and hopefully with any decency on their part the feeling was mutual. The air didn't feel tense, but it wasn't calm anymore, it feeling as if the conversation could go in any direction at any time-whether that be intense and emotional or blunt and most likely slightly bitter. Giorno's curiosity about Guido never felt truly satisfied, and Mista felt the same about Giorno, a selfish need to constantly know more as stupidly immature as it was, like all he could get was never enough. But both of the men were enjoying the serene feeling of holding each other tenderly in their arms as they intertwined their fingers like the intricate stitching of fabrics, and didn't want to soil any kind of pleasant memory with complicated emotions. They felt closer in a way, as if Mista meeting death and being called back forced him to realise the importance of the boy that he held so dearly, and with that knew he definitely wanted Giorno to know about his past, and even invite him to it. 

"I remember...", Mista trailed off, shutting his eyes to force the memory to surface, yet his memories were still mainly fuzzy. They were there, but hard to understand as if he could only see them through some kind of unfocused lens. Giorno looked up, humming against the mans chest to imply that he was listening and waiting for Mista to carry on, and after a few moments of silence he did.

"We were arguing...weren't we?"

Giorno didn't say anything.

"When this happened to me?" The man questioned, grazing his calloused fingers across his newest scar that adorned his neck like some kind of deadly necklace.  Giorno made no attempt to verbally answer him, or even offer a pathetic nod despite knowing the answer all too well, which was yes. He was enjoying the peace of finally having Mista back after he had left for a fortnight, each day aching so much more than the last, and the last thing he wanted right now was a reminder of the petty grudge Giorno had held against his boyfriend, so much so that Mista's words almost made him cringe. Mista most likely knew the answer to his own question as well, but with Giorno's confirmation the situation would suddenly become a lot more real, and the remaining tension left over from it would begin to linger again. The boy could feel Mista look down towards him for an answer, which made him feel even more inclined to ignore him, his heart thumping in his chest from the nerves. The argument over seemingly nothing had shaken their relationship and left its mark, especially because of what followed, so it was only natural Giorno wished to push it to the back of his mind, ready to collect dust. But without any closure came a nagging doubt that would eat away at him until it exploded into something far bigger than it needed to be. Giorno needed to address the elephant in the room.

Still, he didn't offer any kind of verbal response, but nodded into Mista's chest to say yes, dreading the response that would follow. And for awhile, there wasn't one, which did no favours for Gio's nerves as the man stared aimlessly up the ceiling, seeming so spaced out he could've almost been on another planet. Giorno's skin became slick with sweat and his head throbbed with worry, the boys flushed cheek sticking distastefully to Mista's pecs, his chest hair tickling his boyfriends nose. It was a lot for the both of them to take in, which in actuality wasn't a lot, as the entire contents of the argument went as followed: Mista, with too much force slammed Gio's hips down onto the floor, and had hurt him, exploding into so much more than it already needed to be. The boy didn't want to have to deal with the guilt of getting his boyfriend killed anymore, as he had been it dragging around on his shoulders like a curse, so he nodded again, this time with a lot more force.

"Yeah..." Giorno whimpered in a small voice.

"Yeah-yeah we were."

A silence filled the room that made a terrible ringing torture Giorno's ears, anticipating Mista's response. He had every right to be angry, and although it wasn't him who had pulled the trigger of the gun, the boy felt somewhat responsible for what had happened, and if the stone mask wasn't so, Giorno was sure he would've found it hard to keep going, if he could at all. If the boy was brave enough to look up, he would've seen Guido's face, and he couldn't bare the thought of it being consumed with worry or rage, yet Giorno's own worries couldn't be further from the truth. Mista looked calm; as if someone had simply explained that his name was Guido or that his birthday was in fact the third of December. His demeanour seemed nonchalant to say the very least, yet so many other words would've worked to describe the look on his face as he stared up at the ceiling once more, as there were too many emotions to read, yet surprisingly none of them were negative. Giorno was often described as being devoid of flaws-much like his father (as his mother had described), and for the most part that was true, but his one defining flaw was his idealisation to capsulise those who comforted him, and he supposed that was Mista. Like his own personal bric-à-brac he could sit on his shelf and marvel at. His forever. He guessed it was strange, yet the simple need to feel in constant company of love he would not apologise for. When it came to Mista, he was often irrational, the argument and the current situation being an example of that-he couldn't help but worry, yet knew Mista better than that.

"Well I'm sorry for what I did."
Giorno's heart sank, looking up at Mista for a moment, eyes wide.
"I don't recall what I did, but I apologise, Giorno."
The boy smiled, a bittersweet look in his eyes.
"I'm sorry too."

And just like that, the situation had been discarded and dissolved with nothing but a few simple words, and as if he had finally reached the surface after floating in a pool of emotions, he could finally breathe again, and he was gasping for air, a giant weight being lifted from his shoulders. With his weary head resting against the welcoming texture of Mista's gentle flesh, the boy couldn't help but notice the icy hold it had, his finger tips feeling like death despite how comforting they were. And with such a pale embrace, Giorno felt guilt wash over him in waves that would surely drown him if he didn't hold his breath. There was a selfishness that threatened to eat away at Giorno greedily, and Mista being alive was a prime example. Although Mista seemed content enough as he laid back in the coffin, pulling his beloved down into a calming hug as he stared at his new friend called the moon, he realised what he had taken away from him, and everyone else for that matter. The placid moon that hung motionless in a sky-so dark like Guido's deep eyes, surrounded by tiny beacons of light would become the mans sunlight. Never to bask in the morning rays, ever to feel the heat of the afternoon engulf his skin, never to understand the satisfaction of the mellow evening air as the sun crept down into a gorgeous sunset. It would all fade into a distant memory for Mista to gawk at and so pitifully yearn for. Giorno had debated getting a great poet or master of fine art to encapsulate the beauty of the sun for him, and he supposed Mista might feel the same way. Never to eat, but to feel warm, thick blood trail down his desperate throat, and if the boy remembered correctly, he was already overdue his next feed. Mista would be hungry too. Not only that, but he had lied to his team too, whom he loved very much like his own flesh and blood. As far as they were aware, Mista's lifeless corpse had been picked up by a private undertaker the day after he had died, and his funeral was 'impossible' for the time being due to the enemy stand users still posing as a threat. Yet Mista wasn't dead-only resting, and with his presence he was sure to break his teammates' hearts again, all in a bitterly sweet way that would be too overwhelming to bare. Mista was asking questions about his family too-and how was Giorno going to explain this one?

"You really think seeing them is a good idea?" Giorno urged, looking up from Mista's chest and at his boyfriend. 

"I don't really like thinking-it just feels right."


"Is that a problem?"

Giorno was stumped, as he went to speak, yet as he drew in a breath to say something, he wasn't sure what words were going to leave his mouth. There wasn't really any rule on not being able to see your family when it came to being in your mafia, but the boy had been surrounded by the others for so long, not wanting anything to do with their families had become so normalised that the thought addled his brain. What was love if it was towards those you called family? Blood is thicker than water, sure, but the sight of the latter definitely wasn't so terrifying to most people. He had no reason to deny Mista his request, and with a wicked thought Giorno realised it would be a lot easier to let Mista live with them while he eased the others back into the idea of him being alive. They'd seen death and life plenty of times, but it never hurt to be considerate. He rubbed the splotchy skin on his small shoulders that were still red and rashy from where the burning hot wax had landed. Giorno, for once in his life he was truly stuck for what to do, and couldn't give a clear, or at least mature answer, so he decided not to think at all, and let his lips take over. 

"I'll drive." 


"that's what we do dear. We're vampires." 

there was a silence for a moment. 


Not long after, the two men got up, brushing the compressed dirt from their backs and shut the coffin, just as it had been before. Giorno planned on telling the others about Mista-whatever the situation was, but for now asked his partner to exercise precaution when it came to making noise. Their room was situated furthest from everyone else's, but often did Giorno catch Abbacchio or Fugo sat with a glass of wine staring longingly out of the kitchen window that was only opposite the boys room. The plan was as followed: get Mista the fuck out of the house to see his family so Giorno could tie up any loose ends and deal with the painfully dire situation that was the person who killed his boyfriend in the first place. In a way Giorno felt like he was using Guido's want to see his parents to his advantage, and in turn using him, but it was for the best, so he took little guilt from it. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little curious as to what Mista's family was like. Mista was eccentric for the most odd reasons, and he wanted to see just why he had become the man he was now-the man that he loved. The boy had gotten the flood of emotions out of the way that followed his boyfriends death, and he needed to tie up the loose ends Lorenzo and the other enemy stand users had unceremoniously undone. After all, Giorno had said he'd make them pay, and he was the kind of person to hold a grudge in the most passive way possible. Bruno has taught Giorno that someone's actions could be forgiven depending on their intentions behind their wrongdoings. And quite simply, the context was this: cold and calculated murder in the name of ridding them of a threat. Lorenzo had tried to take something from Giorno, so it was only fair he took something back. He'd rip his throat out and watch the colour drain from his wretched eyes. But first, he needed to get his boyfriend to his families house in hope they'd babysit for a few days. 

Mista changed from his outfit that sat now scrunched up on the floor, crusty with his old dried up blood, ridding himself of the memory along with the shirt as it was discarded in the corner, missing the bin. Giorno wondered what Guido could remember about his death, yet he didn't care to ask just yet, as there were more pressing matters to attend to. When Team Mista came clambering over to their boss, pain in their flustered faces as they demanded to know just why he had lied to them about Mista's condition, Giorno wondered what he could say. 'why is it such an issue that I lied? Everyone does it. It's natural'. 

Abbacchio would scrunch his nose up at the response, and Fugo would go numb with anger. Bruno's tongue would be itching to get a taste of Giorno's cheek, and Narancia would rather let the words spew from his mouth as they entered his mind or his obliviousness would sew his mouth shut. Trust was such an important thing to the passione before Gionro had joined, but he hadn't recalled ever mentioning since he'd taken control. You don't need trust, but power to install loyalty. It worked one way. They were different things. And as harsh as it sounded, Giorno had to separate work from everything else. Mista would stand there confused as Gionro carried on, no emotion pulling at his lips. 

'My intentions have been the same since the first day I met Bruno on the train. To make my dream a reality. I love you all very much, yet I will not betray my dream. That is all. I didn't lie, I just never told you. I planned on letting you know when I explained our next steps for taking down the enemy stand users. I didn't lie. There's plenty I could lie about. Or have lied about. Like when Polpo died. I killed him. Turned his gun into a banana and let him blow his brains out. So please, save your temper tantrums for later. I was hysterical too. But Mista is here now, isn't he?'

Mista got dressed into his usual attire: a blue cashmere turtleneck crop-top, paired with a ridiculously garish pair of leather, red and black trousers that could only be described as a only-hot-because-Mista-wore-them kind of outfit. He washed and readied himself while Giorno took the time to style his hair and put on his blue signature suit that accentuated the new-found paleness of his pecs, contrasting beautifully against the silky material of his clothes. Maybe he'd get a spray tan? Giorno's thought was cut short as Mista waltzed out of the bathroom, his hair unfortunately scrunched up under his usual floppy cap with his gun he'd found on Gio's desk stuffed in between the hem of his trousers and tanned skin of his abdomen. Giorno hadn't heard the incessant whines from Sex Pistols yet, but he assumed the man still possessed his stand similarly to himself. The idea was to 'get the fuck out' in the dead of night without being caught as if they were teenagers sneaking out of their parents house to go to a party, and as Giorno looked over at his boyfriend that had just wondered out of the bathroom, both of them prepped and ready, they left with a nod.

They passed through the corridors that stood stagnant with silence like cats: quiet and unbothered, watching for any signs of life as if they were predators looking out for prey. It was dark, and to avoid Mista wondering off Giorno held his hand, leading him through the house that he still wasn't familiar with as his memories were still fuzzy. All without a sound they passed Abbacchio and Bruno's room first, the door wide open revealing the two of them sleeping peacefully together in a warm embrace, Bruno resting his head against Abbaccio's strong chest, both parcelled up tightly in their snug blankets. Next was Fugo that slept lightly, simiarly to Abbacchio, which why Giorno made a point of being extra cautious around the entrance of his room, even with the door shut in case he heard any kind of creaking outside the door. The man laid flat on his back wrapped up in his blanket like a mummy that Mista would've most likely laughed at if he got the chance, yet the speed a which Giorno dragged him through the house made that a challenge. Lastly was Narancia, who didn't really prove to be any kind of threat as the boy slept heavily like a rock, and fidgeted like a toddler, yet snored loudly like an old man. Giorno had always wondered why Fugo had been as adamant as he was about the two of them not sharing a room, and he was sure this was why. As the both of them got to the stairs that led to the front door, it felt like a weight had been lifted off of their shoulders, sneaking down the stairs like mice on their tiptoes, leaving the house devoid of any sign of movement as they did. Giorno was only slightly scared as he closed the front door behind him, letting Mista out first, as creeping past his underlings that had been branded merciless and skilled in what they do was no trouble at all. Some bodyguards, huh.

Thankfully, Mista didn't question why Giorno knew where he was going when it came to navigating his way to his parents, nor did he mention that they were travelling in the same car that Mista had been chucked in the back of like a dirty old rag doll, Abbacchio practically cramming his floppy arms and legs in as they failed to cooperate with him, the man in the end letting his upset mixed with a terrible deep-seated rage get the better of him and slam the car boot down in hopes it got Mista's dead body in there. Bruno was somewhat of a clean-freak, and it was an asset that Gionro liked to use to his advantage. The car was glossy and clean, without a single trace of how the putrid smell of death lingered in the anguished air like a song, or how full of unbridled rage Giorno Giovanna had been when he cried for his dead lover in the boot, displacing such intense emotions on the trigger of Mista's revolver as he aimed it at an officer. Did Mista know any of the events that had played out that day? Did he even recall anything of importance, carrying around nothing but his past selves name as a hollow shell? It was out of character for Giorno, as he'd found himself telling himself this for a second time in the last hour or so, but he didn't wish to think at all-for his brain to fade into nothing but numbness that he could let consume him. Right now he had a job to do and pesky emotions were jeopardising his planning. 

It didn't take long for Giorno to find his way to Mista's old family home, the car winding through the narrow streets of Naples, the houses slowly going from sophisticated establishments such as where the team lived currently in a lavish life of luxury, with a large, almost endless supply of rooms, looking tidy and proud, to much more run-down bungalows. The streets got messier, and the people got more rowdy, making Giorno's stomach twist with disgust. He had worked hard to rid the streets of Italy of drugs, and although many others had helped them achieve his dream, it felt like his and Bruno's own dream come true. Many people relied on their consistency, and he feared that there was trouble spotting in paradise. People weren't meant to live like this-plain and simple. Mista didn't seem to care as he watched out of the window complacently, keeping his hand on his gun that was stuffed down his trousers, humming along to a song that Giorno was sure was by Prince, lipping the lyrics as he went along. The way he nodded his head was so painfully sexy-reminding Giorno that his own needs had been neglected, as straight after Mista had finished he'd tenderly pulled him into a hug, and laid back onto the bed of soil with his boyfriend. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as his palms went sweaty. He'd make Mista repay him for that. 

The car tires screeched as Giorno pulled up outside Mista's old family home, the boy being greeted with the dingy looking bungalow that he'd visited not long ago. It weirdly reminded Giorno of the grimey alleyway, or his flat in Japan. The atmosphere was what made the area bad, not what went on in it. And dingy indeed, as the house was surrounded by a dishevelled looking metal fence, half rusty and flaccid, with large holes in the gate, hardly doing it's job of keeping people out. The grass was pale-looking and dead, having been stamped on and left to grow out, matting together to create what looked like one big block of grass, areas of it being flattened by kids toys and various other pieces of rubbish like beer cans most likely filled with cigarette butts. Plastic chairs sat out on the weathered porch, but the paint had faded from them with time, becoming sun-bleached, much like the crumbling walls of the house that looked weak like watered wood. The outside layer of the walls were consumed by invasive mould, and a majority of it had  flaked off, only adding to the run-down look of the whole place. Considering it was in the dead of night, no lights seemed to be on, but that was typical for humans. To sleep at night. Strangely enough, Giorno didn't find it hard to imagine that Mista would've lived somewhere like this in his youth, but hard to imagine he lived pretty much the same life himself, recalling a time when all he knew was loneliness and stacks of dirty formula bottles from where his mother didn't care much for how clean everything was, and more for how many men she could pull in one night. He guessed they weren't so different after all. This is where Mista had lived for the first seventeen years of his life. The mystery had finally been cracked. Yet as Giorno looked over at Mista as if to say 'we're here', he was greeted with the mans face scrunched up in some kind of disgusted confusion. 

"This isn't my house."

Giorno cocked his head. 

"Yeah, no shit-you don't live here anymore." 

Mista shook his head and looked over at his boyfriend. 

"No, like I never lived here, babe."


Giorno decided against finishing his sentence and sat back in his seat, suddenly seeming a lot more addled than Mista. 'but what?', Mista would ask, folding his arms curiously as he watched his boyfriend for a response, and Giorno would gulp and come clean. 'I looked into where your family had lived when you were dead. To be fair, you were dead, how was I meant to ask if you were okay with it? It was only for the best. If you didn't wake up I wanted to at least tell them you had died. Oh? You hadn't spoken to them in years? Surely it's better then them living in ignorance. I know you wanted to tell me about your past yourself, but you were dead. What if you never woke up?'. He'd found that voice in his head speaking a lot tonight. The one that knew how to run the mafia, and well. Not the voice of a nineteen year old boy.

Luckily, Mista didn't pry into why Giorno had driven him to such a random location, but now the boy was confused as ever. He was sure this was Guido Mista's biological family home, and after finding pictures of his parents-that definitely lived there-he knew it had to be them, as he was the spitting image of his mother with dark curly hair, eyes like a shark's and beautifully tanned skin. It checked out that he had plenty of sisters, which was six to be exact, all younger than him, making Mista the eldest, and the only boy. The only thing that was different was their second name, yet it was unlikely Mista would keep the same one after joining the mafia. Everything checked out, and Giorno had used private, professional people that were good at their jobs to gather such information, and it turned out to be...fake? Of course, Mista knew better than anyone where he came from and where he was raised, but it was unlike them to get something as big as this completely wrong. After all, Giorno was well-versed in digging up peoples past. Mista shook his head, and gestured to the drivers seat, Giorno understanding straight away what he meant, the two men then wriggling their way out of their seats and swapped with each other, Mista taking the position of the driver. He adjusted the seat for his size and stretched, giving one final look to the house Giorno had pulled up to and shook his head almost in disbelief, buckling his seatbelt. 

"I'll drive." 

Giorno nodded his head 


As curious as Giorno had been as to find out where Mista had grown up, he felt his eyelids grow heavy with sleep, and passed out with his cheek pressed against the cold car window, snoring gently as Mista drove through the back roads of Naples to get to his old family home. Mista gripped the steering wheel in anticipation, trying to ready himself for the kind of reaction his sisters might give him, if one at all. He hadn't been home since his arrest, and there was good reason for that, and ever since the judge had ignored his plea for self-defence he hadn't held it against them, but felt a sting in his heart at their rejection. Just how had he turned into such a delinquent that stole and killed after his upbringing? Mista thought it was childish to say, but it proved that certain peoples fate are simply predetermined. He was a violent, cocky, bisexual vampire gangster that liked the smell of gunpowder and enjoyed looking at tits. What else was there to say?   

And when Giorno had woken up, he was met with a sight he hadn't prepared himself for. 




Chapter Text

When Mista had mentioned he had a lot of sisters, Giorno didn't think he meant this.

Giorno was met by a gaggle of worried looking women, draped in black habits that were reminiscent of the night sky with white serre-têtes, caps and neckerchiefs. They all stood above him from where he laid, which seemed to be some kind of bed, insinuating that he had been asleep for a lot longer than intended, and looked down at the boy with the same kind of pitiful curiosity you might give a dying animal if you ever were to spot one. His vision was hazy still as he was yet to rid himself of such a groggy state after sleeping, and for a moment he thought his eyes had deceived him. All he could focus on was the small whispers echoing in the painfully white room that was illuminated by candlelight that Gio supposed came from Mista's sister's and how they watched him ever so intently. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to rid himself of such a queer delusion, but when his confused eyes came back into focus, he realised his vison had not failed him the first time.

As he was met with a series of nuns staring down at him.

The boy blinked a few times in disbelief, and wondered for a moment if he'd died on the way to Mista's family home and had gone to heaven where angels sang and nuns lives peacefully, but after a moments consideration the thought made Gio want to burst out into laugher. He wasn't particularly devout when it came to faith, but if there was a chance the afterlife existed, Giorno knew very well that he was going to Hell and would make even the devil beg for his mercy. As expected of a gay, vampire, mafia boss with murderous tendencies. A thin blanket laid over him, the boy having been tucked into bed, something he hadn't expected. The nuns looked down at him, and he looked up at them, sharing an awkward glance before he looked away, still not saying anything to the women. Mista better of had a good explanation for this.

As if it were forbidden to talk to him, Mista's sisters still whispered like gossiping fishwives to each other, keeping Giorno out of the mix of whatever they were saying. There was six of them, and not one of them chose to spoke to him. He'd looked to the side to catch a break from the awkwardness that choked him, yet all he'd noticed was how disgustingly plain the room was. Everything was white: the walls, the floor, the uncomfortable bedsheets, the list was endless. The colour, or lack of was an eyestrain to say the least, almost giving Giorno a throbbing headache in the process as he rubbed his eyes once more. The room smelt of dust, and what was worse was how empty the room was, giving the nuns voices a horrible echo, as if they were speaking but it was all a dream inside his mind. There was a lonely bedside table that fittingly had nothing on it beside the lacklustre looking bed but a small, white table cloth perched on top of it, and a small wooden cross. Apart from that the room seemed empty- lonely almost as it was completely devoid of any kind of character unlike Gionro's room that was scattered with ancient artefacts, and fearsome coffins that had once resided at the bottom of the murky depths of the ocean with his father inside. His own room held history, and emotion hung in the air, yet the only thing that hung here in such a bland room was the cross of Christ, and there were certainly an abundance of them. If what Gionro had deduced was correct, and that the boy had woken up in was he assumed was a Convent, that meant that Guido Mista out of anyone it could've been grew Mista was vibrant and full of life-beautifully spontaneous and disrespectful at the best of times. The man didn't seem to possess any kind of moral filter, and nor did he understand when to take a hint. Giorno had remembered thinking only that night whoever raised Mista must've been eccentric themselves, after all Mista's tetraphobia, issues with hygiene, devout cockiness and somewhat surreal confidence in himself was certainly something you didn't tend to forget. The boy just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that it had been nuns that had raised him here under God's word in such a bland, unforgiving setting. As much as God was their life and Giorno appreciated that, he couldn't help but feel bitter. Maybe he wanted someone to worship him too. 

As the boy laid there, almost willing the women away as they loomed over him like statues yet refusing to talk to him, there was a sudden noise from outside the small room, ripping Giorno from his thoughts, and scaring the sisters half to death as they all huddled together out of fear. The clashing from outside sounded violent, and the only person who could've been doing such a disrespectful thing must've been filled with copious amounts of rage to cause such a shocking scene. It was only a guess, but if he was to, Giorno deduced that objects like books or pots and pans were being thrown against the wall, which hopefully weren't being thrown at anyone. There was a stream of spiteful shouts in between the crashing of objects hitting the pale walls, and it was evident that whatever argument was taking place was heated, and definitely far from ending as the screaming only got louder and louder. The screeches were from a woman, which eased Giorno's worries at least a little, as he feared Mista had gotten himself into some kind of quarrel with his caregivers for coming home, which in turn would be Gio's fault for letting him come here, but the sudden sound of Mista's voice, a lot calmer than the woman's made the boys heart sink. The distressed woman was screaming bloody murder as if she had just seen a ghost, the one throwing objects out of white hot fear no doubt, not thinking of the consequences, and Guido's tone being clam and collected was a result of him trying to dissolve the fight, but getting cut off by her fearsome anger each time. When Giorno was in school, he recalled that nuns were often on campus, and how he had avoided them after hearing stories of how strict their teachings had been on other students, and after hearing such a bizarre series of events play out just beyond the door, he understood what his classmates had meant.

"Uh-" Giorno mumbled under his breath, sitting up in bed after the wailing only got louder outside the room, almost sounding animalistic. The boy pulled the thin blanket from his body and threw his legs over the side of the bed, reaching the floor with his feet and standing up, feeling oddly dizzy as he stood up. It was a reminder of what Gio was: not human-and that he needed to feed soon or madness would consume him, and turn him irrational as hunger became the only thing his brain could process. Mista would surely be feeling it too. He steadied himself by grabbing the bedside table, yet the small white table cloth slipped beneath his grasp against the glossy wooden surface it rested on, causing Giorno to lose his balance completely as his hand crashed down towards the stone flooring, the rest of him following in suit. If it was possible his skin became whiter, like a paper strip. But in a pinch his body became limp and it was a challenge to stand his ground. the boy swayed like drunken lunatic, his vision, blurry beyond comprehension. In the pit of his stomach a sickness brewed, feeling bilious about the way his head had started to throb. Like a constant hammer was being drove into Giorno's head. Not that he would be conscious of it. Giorno's head whacked down onto the side of the bedside table, and hard as it made a noise that could only be described as a crunching sound. The initial impact was greatly painful, sure, as Gio felt a sudden pain in his left temple, comparable to a kind of unpleasant pressure, but it was the venomous throb that sent tingles through the rest of his head that made his mind go blank.

The noise of crashing pots and pans was distracting, but it didn't take long for at least one of the nuns to run over to where Giorno had fallen over, coming to his aid as he groaned on the floor. The other five Sisters stayed glued in the same spot, not knowing if they should focus on the ruckus outside or Giorno who still couldn't bring himself to look up. It was fact that Giorno had felt worst things in his life, after all he had ripped his own arm off on multiple occasions, but the unexpected element of something hard and unforgiving bashing the side of his head sent unbearable shockwaves of pain through his body, making him feel sick.

"Oh my dear, are you alright?" The kind Sister asked as she had rushed over, gently wrapping her hand around the boys arm to help pull him up. He'd landed on his side after falling, so it didn't take much effort to pull himself up off of the floor and into a sitting position with his legs to the side. With a horrid throbbing sensation wracking his brain, Giorno rubbed the side of his head, letting out a low moan from pain as he did, looking down towards the floor. The nun carried on, rubbing the side of the boys arm endearingly.

"Can you see alright? What happened-did you slip?" She carried on, asking in a calm voice.

something about her tone seemed sweet like honey and gentle like freshly washed silk. It was something Giorno had always yearned for like some long-lost maternal love and in that moment her voice worked like a painkiller to ease the boys pulsing headache that was growing. When he had fallen over as a child, Giorno's mother had often ignored him, or yelled at him for loosing his footing and dirtying his clothes, but the polite woman that was kneeling down in front of him was forgiving and passive, similar to Mista in a way. The trivial similarity between the two made Giorno feel comfortable lifting his head to look at the person in front of him, and as he did he was greeted with the nun who had selflessly come to help him up that smiled brightly at him, still with a face full of worry.

The woman by nature appeared to be a gentle soul with a compassionate face that looked full of genuine concern for the boys well-being. Judging by how she spoke, she seemed to be middle aged, yet looked young enough to be in her twenties, and Giorno was sure it was the tenderness she exuded was what kept her looking so fresh. her hair was hidden under her habit, yet a small lock of jet black, silky hair hung down over her face, reaching her hazel eyes that glistened like the sun. Giorno had nearly forgotten what it looked like, but after looking into the woman's eyes, he was kindly reminded of its face. Her skin was fair yet looked bronzed, and shimmered gently as the feeble glow of the candlelight that bounced off of her skin, creating faint shadows against her subtly plump lips that were fixed into a lekker smile, or the delicate curve of her nose that was tiny and cute like a button, upturned slightly. Giorno didn't understand, or exactly grasp the idea of nuns, as admittedly he found it useless to devote yourself to a being which you could not physically touch or see, and found no comfort in trusting a 'God' that could think without the ability to see its brain. Yet he had found something so pitifully tranquil in the nun that stood before him that he felt inclined to change his mind, as there was an air of grace that seemed to hug her-or perhaps envy her.

Giorno was lost in his thoughts before he was pulled back again rudely due to the invasive clashing for more objects being thrown against the thick walls, shocking the boy as if the other rooms in the convent were at all similar to this one, Gio would have a hard time believing that there was any more to throw at the poor man. Much like Giorno, the nun that kneeled in front of him looked towards the door with a sickly look in her eyes as she frowned, anguish staining her lips while the blush drained from her cheeks. The other nuns felt it too, yet none of them seemed to be as greatly disturbed by the quarrel than the woman that kneeled in front of him, sharing a great concern for Mista. Judging by what he could hear, or make out through the incessant screams of the irrational woman, she was furious with Guido, but she wasn't exactly sure what for as she continued to list a long string of instances that involved his misadventure, the most obvious one being when he was arrested, and if that was the case, God forbid the lady found out he now worked for the mafia-or maybe that had happened? The other five nuns seemed to be minding their own business, as if the fight wasn't there at all and all of Mista's pleas fell on deaf or simply stern ears, yet the woman who still sat in front of GioGio appeared to be restless as her face scrunched up in upset. She went to speak; opening her lips and drawing in a shaky breath, but before she could one of her sisters interrupted her.

"Do not make room for words, Sister Violetta if they are to be in defence of Guido. "

One thing Giorno caught onto was the obvious age difference between who he now knew was called Violetta and the other five nuns, as they looked considerably younger than the concerned woman, whose face than twisted in a bitter anger.

"You didn't raise him like I did-you don't understand why he is the way that he is. If you are to speak so negatively of my dear boy, do not speak at all." 

Giorno nodded to himself, taking in the information as he went. Judging from what he had just heard, Violetta was the closest thing Mista had to a mother figure, and she sure seemed ready to defend his name as he bit back as quickly as her sisters could bark, it not obvious to the others, but mainly to the boy that her stand was scrunched up in rage like a ball of paper. The gentle woman seemed so exasperated with the others antics and in such a short amount of time that Giorno felt inclined to to assume something unbeknownst to him had happened while he had slept-a something that didn't seem to be trivial in the slightest. And not only while he had been asleep, but the five years since Guido's arrest, a tempered rage boiling deep inside the sisters that had raised him, finally exploding when he'd shown his face. Of course that was expected, after all, thou shalt not kill. There had been something they were all trying to forget-the women in the convent, and that was that Mista had been their son after doing what he did, but now with the desire to seek sanctuary, everyone but Violetta seemed opposed. 

"What's actually going on out there?", Giorno finally asked, finding the gall to speak. In unison, all six women whipped their heads around like dolls to look at him, yet their lips never faltered from a frown, offering silence as their response. The boy sensed he had done something wrong, but wasn't sure what, as he didn't remember it being forbidden to answer a simple question one of the ten commandments. He cleared his throat, not ready to probe any further as his head still throbbed from pain, the small groan that escaped his lips making this all the more evident, and with that, Violetta leaned into Giorno, taking his arm in her hand to urge him onto the bed with a grip as forgiving as God. 

"Mother superior just wasn't expecting Guido, that's all." Violetta finally replied faintly, knowing well that Giorno saw straight through her half-baked reply, her small words barely satisfying the boys need to know more, looking away in hope that he wouldn't inquire any further, which he didn't for the time being. Yet it was a weird way of phrasing 'Mista has turned up unexpectedly and thrown a great big fucking spanner in the works'. Seemingly the argument just beyond the door of the room had died down tremendously, but Giorno could still hear Mista speaking, in a low, and restful tone, yet the contents of what he was actually saying was hard to make out as the walls were thick. For the boy to be able to hear so clearly and how loudly the Mother Superior had been shouting at Mista, he assumed the sound must've made his boyfriends ears ring. Giorno didn't know much about religion-a lot less than he was willing to admit after being forced to attend Sunday school every week until he was twelve, but he was certain nuns were painted out to be peaceful...right? Whatever Guido had said must've struck a nerve, but it might of been the simple action of showing up, and Gio felt as if he was the one to blame for that. The boy wondered if they knew of his affiliation to the Passione now, or even what the Passione was, and how after his imprisonment he'd killed more people than he could shake a stick at: some of them old, young, men, women-if Giorno gave the order it was his duty to comply, and he was mostly happy to. When Guido fired his gun, he didn't need to think, and that as a matter of fact that was something he liked doing-not thinking. Not only that, but the man had turned up with a boyfriend, and judging by Mista's usual character, he most likely hadn't been shy about the fact that Giorno was his lover. Guido had admitted before that he'd never really considered the idea of dating men, but simply trusted what felt right, and it had with Gio. And as wholesome as that statement had been, the boy wasn't sure that was dotted anywhere in the bible. At least Violetta didn't seem completely disappointed. 

The room fell silent once more before the wooden door slammed open in disarray, Mista storming in with an expressionless look on his face, yet Giorno knew better-that was the face his boyfriend pulled when being called angry was an understatement. He was enraged, but determined to keep his cool in front of his mother. His hands were balled at his side, and judging by the perfect hand-print sculped in red across his tanned cheek, he'd taken a scolding from the head of this establishment, who no doubt had a part in raising him, as the voice seemed as much filled with concern as it was filled with rage. The man stood out like a sore thumb, his garish clothes definitely getting the better of the situation as his gimpy crop-top turtleneck and low-waisted tiger-stripped trousers contrasted not so nicely against the nuns habits they respectfully wore. Not only that, but the revolver stuffed down the front of his boxers didn't do him any favours. He caught sight of Giorno still on the floor, in the process of being helped up by Violetta and rushed over, not exchanging any kind of passing glance between them, or words for that matter between his mother, putting his hand behind her to support her back and helped in pulling his boyfriend up without a word. The expression on his face had twisted into a look of worry as he'd laid eyes on his boyfriend, helping him sit down on the bed behind him comfortably. 

"You okay babe? How long have you been awake? Did you hear all of that?" 

Shortly after Mista had spoken, before Giorno could get a word in, a woman followed in through the door, looking towards the man with a look of urgency. She was a wizened, frail looking woman, who must've been about half of Mista's size, yet what she lacked in height and looks she made up for in white-hot rage. The hair that was visible from under her habit was grey with age, and each winkle that adorned her face helped to show how ancient she truly was. The boy found it hard to believe that a woman with a hunchback and shake in her fingers was responsible for the ruckus outside just a few minutes ago. Instantly Guido shot his head around to look towards the old woman, and his face suddenly dropped, raising his hand to Giorno's cheek. Without thinking, the boy put his hand over Mista's, nestling it against his face. 

"I'm not done talking to you!" The enraged old woman yelled, folding her arms as she did, yet Mista's composed response seemed only to anger her more. 

"Well I'm done talking to you." 

As if on cue, everyone's face dropped at his comment, even Mista after he realised what he'd said, biting his lip and most likely mentally scolding himself for his insolence. It was obvious by the way the man composed himself in the company of women that he had been taught to put respect before his emotions, and Giorno knew he did that well, but the quiver on his lip gave everything he was desperately trying to hide away. As if she was trying to spot the colour red amongst a bed of roses Violetta noticed straight away, gently pulling Mista away from Giorno and into a short-lived embrace, much to everyone else's surprise as they stood there, mouth agape. Giorno simply sat on the bed and watched the dysfunctional family-reunion unfold, a mixture between the pain in his head still holding a tight grip on him, his respect for their privacy (despite secretly dying to know what was happening), and not actually having a fucking clue what was going on. Although it didn't take a genius to guess, no one had told him anything yet apart from Violetta's vague response. Violetta pressed the palm of her hand to Mista's flushed cheek and cupped it lovingly, before pulling his body in towards hers. She looked over the top of Guido, with how strangely tall she was and towards the older woman that was still glaring at Mista and spoke in a grave tone.

"Can't you leave him alone, Agatha?" She said, making a point of dropping the honorific title of Mother Superior. 

"He was asked never to come back here but it's been years and he's shown up out of the blue covered in scars. Shouldn't we at least hear why he's shown his face before we throw things at him and demand that he leaves?" 

Before Agatha could respond Violetta cut her off. 

"Banish him all you want but he's still my son. I raised him-and you did too."

There was a silence from everyone else in the room that followed, all watching the scene play out before them. Giorno looked over towards his boyfriend who remained huddling his adoptive mother, like a scared, abandoned puppy shaking in the rain. Had Giorno looked like this himself at a younger age he wondered? If so, he felt bad for himself, but more importantly, he felt bad for Mista who had just come home for some comfort. The other five nuns stood together in a group, still not sure if they were needed in the room but too scared to make an exit in case it was the wrong thing to do, one of them holding her hands around the cross necklace that hung from her neck.

"Don't you have any compassion at all?" Violetta added, like the final nail in the coffin. 

Agatha no longer had anything to say, as if Violetta's words had shoved her own right back down her throat and let her choke on them as she seemed taken back by the woman's persistence. Her attitude never faltered, yet it was so different now compared to what it had been a few moments ago when she was helping Giorno off of the floor. Giorno finally felt like it was his job to step in and speak on Mista's behalf as the man was still silently cuddling his mother for comfort. The boy tried his hardest to brush off the pain that still took the shape of a throbbing headache, and stood up, not slipping over this time and cleared his throat, getting the attention of everyone in the room as they turned to look at him. As if it were a switch Gio had managed to turn himself from a confused teenage boy that the nuns had taken pity on and brought to bed, to a clear, decisive mafia boss. Yet the nuns didn't need to know about the last bit just yet. 

"The fault is all mine you see..." He started, trailing off as he looked over towards Mista who looked pitifully vulnerable in his mothers arms, and then over to his mother, but brought himself back to the centre of the room. Everyone looked over at him, and once he knew he had everyone's attention he carried on.

"Mista after an unfortunate series of events was struck with a small bout of confusion I'm afraid, to the point that he didn't even recognise me and asked to come here. I didn't think anything of it and let him take the lead." Giorno finished with a warm, fake smile to ease the tension, cutting out the bit where Mista had been shot through the neck, and turned into a vampire, and had face-fucked Giorno before they'd left the house, and the bit where Giorno took him some place completely different thinking it was his childhood home.

Giorno's words lingered in the air for a moment, an awkward atmosphere seeping in through the walls as the boy stood there silently, the seven nuns staring back at him like statues filled with judgemental curiosity. It had become clear to the boy now-just why he'd woken up to the explosive argument on the other side of the door, and it was because Mista had been asked to stay away from the convent, most likely to avoid disgracing their reputation as nuns. As forgiving as religion usually was, as it was often that nuns were seen as being meek and mild, there was a line that had to be firmly drawn, and that was just before housing a known serial killer, even if it was their own son. Giorno was sure it was as painful for them as it was for Mista to be rejected by the gentle hand that fed him as a child when his own parents didn't want to. Guido pulled his body out of Violetta's grasp and instead met her upset eyes with his own, the both of them sharing a terribly troubled stare for a few moments, one that screamed 'how has everything come to this?', and as much as Gio knew not to take it personally he thought he saw a look of regret in his eyes, as if he would give up what he had now if only God would let him. It explained why Mista acted like he did, and knew what he did now-like when he'd been oddly informative when it came to Catholicism when the topic was randomly brought up in dinner, or when he'd scolded Narancia for shouting to the local nuns from the car window as a joke when they were on a mission. Turns out Narancia was hollering at Mista's family and he'd pretended they weren't. Such trivial actions everyone brushed off as 'just-Mista-being-Mista' all took shape and were given meaning. Giorno had only allowed Mista to come back here in hopes that they'd let him seek sanctuary while he eased the others into the thick of the plan of how they were to take down the enemy stand users, and the idea of Mista being alive, but it seemed his plan was backfiring, and badly. Unless he could convince them. 

"I'm Mista's friend, and I thought maybe you-"

Before the boy could carry on, Agatha cut him off. 

"We know who you are." 

What? That he was Mista's boyfriend? Or that he was a mafia boss? Either way, he ran with what the Mother Superior had said and carried on. 

"I'm Giorno Giovanna. Mista's boyfriend," he said with a smile, correcting himself. 

"And I thought maybe you'd have the decency and compassion in your hearts to take him in for the time being. The details I will spare you (but only for his benefit) but we're currently having a bit of an issue at home. External influences."

he decided to layer it on thick. 

"As you can see, Mista isn't as spry as he used to be, with the scars and such-and ever since the accident-well-it hasn't been the same-I just need a little bit of time-no one has to know-can he stay here? I only need a few days-a week maybe?"

The bullshit Giorno let spew from his mouth was all performative, and even let a tear form in his eye just to add to the act, clutching at his chest in the process in hopes to evoke some kind of empathy. Lying and straight up manipulating nuns into letting their serial killer son stay the week after he was excommunicated would get you a one way ticket straight to hell, right? Although, there was at least some truth to his words, as it was true there was an issue at home, and there had been an accident. Giorno needed to wrap this up quick. 

With that being said he let an artificial sob erupt from his throat, yet the fact it was all an act was unbeknownst to them. Even Mista looked shocked, but the man was more surprised at how easily the boy could manipulate people and not feel bad about it. But you didn't get to be the boss of the mafia was a personality as pure as fresh water, he had to play dirty to get what he wanted. Mista wasn't exactly sure what the issue was, as his memories were still coming back to him in chunks, but what he did know was that he trusted Giorno, and if he was doing this-reducing himself to such a pathetic display in the name of getting what he wanted, the man was sure it was for a good enough reason. 

"Mum," Mista started, joining in with Giorno's act, looking over towards Sister Violetta. 

"I know I'm not the best son, and I've made mistake after mistake, but all I ask is that you let me stay here."

Before Violetta could speak Mista carried on. 

"You took your final vows right? As a nun when I was eight? I remember that day clearly. Don't you? I prayed right beside you with my cross necklace in hand-I still have it. Remember what we prayed for? Compassion and empathy. Acceptance." 

He put his hand to her shoulder, looking directly into her eyes.

"Matthew, 6:14. "For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you." Remember? Or Matthew 18:21-22. "Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?' Jesus answered, 'I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.' "

Giorno wasn't sure where Mista had pulled Bible verses from, as he'd only seen Mista pray a handful of times since he'd met him, but he supposed reciting prayers was like muscle memory of the tongue after being raised by nuns, and educated in the Lord. The two men were reeling them in now, and they could tell that he had struck a compassionate nerve somewhere in their hearts, Agatha and Violetta especially. The boy wasn't sure what Mista was doing saying such heartfelt things, and whether or not they were out of the compassion in his heart for his mother, or the desire to play along with Mista's game, but he was sure there was hints of both of them in his voice. It was clear he cared for his mother, and his mother cared for him, so it was only fair they forgave him this once, right? Giorno felt like he could remember having an oddly similar situation with Polpo when he'd joined the Passione at fifteen, something about trust? Or the abuse of it? "What I'm about to say may contradict God's teachings, but I'd like you to listen carefully. If the most important thing in this world is trust, the most despicable thing you can do is insult someone. Listen well... To insult or betray someone's trust not only hurts someone's reputation, but puts them in a very sticky situation. We will not fight others or risk our lives over money, power, or having our seats taken at a theatre or on the bus. Fighting is truly foolish. Only idiots bother with it. But... I will risk my life over being insulted. I believe that God forgives even murder. Don't forget that."

Agatha looked towards Violetta, and the two women shared a glance for a few moments, speaking to each other through the emotion in their eyes before Agatha reluctantly nodded, throwing her pride to the side for a moment, and tried to see Mista not for his crimes as a killer, but as their son that they had raised. 

"Very well." The old woman whispered under her breath, wiping her hands on her dress as if to rid herself of her words. 

"Guido can stay under the supervision of Sister Violetta. Behave yourself like a good boy and we won't have any issues, but if anyone from outside the convent finds out you're here, well-" 

She stopped herself for a moment. 

"Well we'll just have to cross that bridge if we come to it. You're all dismissed."

As the small gaggle of worried nuns left the room, Agatha following in suit, there was an audible sigh from the three left behind as the sticky situation had seemed to be diffused finally, finishing as quickly as it had started. Guido gave his mother a small hug out of relief, a nostalgic look on his face-a look of childish joy that he'd get to see his mother, something Giorno wasn't particularly familiar with. The situation had gone to plan, and now it was time to set the rest of it into action: to get back to the rest of the team by at least lunch tomorrow and explain what had happened, retrieving his boyfriend around a week later if he didn't miss him too much to bring him back early, and thank the nuns who had politely let him seek sanctuary behind their walls after the ordeal he must've caused them with the gratefulness of God himself and then leave. He needn't let them in on the plan-the whole plan anyway, that involved capturing that good for nothing Lorenzo that was jeopardising Giorno's reputation and deal with him personally; driving him up to the north of Italy in the boot of his car and returning each day and breaking a few more of his bones with each passing day until he broke mentally. He'd make them pay. He meant it. 


Later on, Giorno found out he had been asleep for around an hour after him and Mista had arrived at the convent, and after the harsh blow to his head, the throbbing ache in his temple  wouldn't let up, and he settled for a second nap, seeking comfort under the thin blanket of the bed. Mista had offered to sleep beside him, get him a drink, any food, something to ease the pain, like a typical restless and caring boyfriend, but his mother pulled him aside, and had asked him to help with the preparations for breakfast. So that's why Mista happened to be a good cook. The man was reluctant to leave his partner alone in such a deluded state, but whatever worried rambles spewed from his mouth at Giorno he hadn't heard as the boy fell into a peaceful sleep that helped rid him of the pain of his headache, and surprisingly he'd managed to fall asleep? That was twice now, but he'd been convinced his vampiric tendencies made it impossible for him to do so, but he wasn't exactly focused on something as trivial as his sleeping requirements while he slept without a sound into the early hours of the morning. Still, he hadn't been asleep for very long when a sudden serge of consciousness drowned him as his eyes fluttered open, his lips parting groggily. When Giorno awoke he was alone, loitering in bed like a patient, huddled under his blanket like he did as a child, and that thought made him uncomfortable. Mista and Violetta were nowhere to be seen, and he felt like he was wasting time. 

There wasn't a sound to be heard in the room as it was almost eerily quiet, like all noise had been pulled from the earth purposely to fuel Giorno's fear that he had been left alone again. In that moment the boy remembered why he had never been so fond of churches, as they were a place for silence and reflections-two things Giorno despised almost as much as useless things-to him they were utterly useless. He assumed this was why he wasn't exactly devout when it came to religion. The boy was itching to get away from the lack of noise as if it were a rash on his skin, he pulled the blanket away from his legs that were slick as he had woken up in a cold sweat and rushed to feel the sensation of his feet against the stone floor. He didn't care for his shoes that were neatly tucked away beside the bedside table, and rushed to his feet in a hurry, thankfully not slipping this time-anything to not be alone for any longer than he already had been. Giorno even went as far as calling out for Mista in a small voice, yet the boy could barely hear himself, let alone anyone outside the room, and certainly not from where the kitchen was. A great feeling of anxiety washed over him as he took small, quick steps to get himself out of the room, each one more desperate than the last as he continued to whisper Mista's name yet screaming it inside of his head. Everyone else was so quiet he felt inclined to be the same, yet he despised it. 

Outside of the room once he got there, slamming the heavy wooden door behind himself helped his nerves, as a sudden wave of fresh air came crashing down on him, and entered his lungs as if he had been suffocating in the tall, oppressing confinements of the tiny room he had been sleeping in. He was out of the building seemingly on the bottom floor, and noticed straight away how everything was made of stone. The convent looked bleak in its beauty, as it was obviously an ancient structure, a great, overlooking church beside it with a cross sat proudly on top. Giorno had walked out into the courtyards at the back of the building, archways that looked like great spinal cords-adorned with the decorative patterns of the story of Christ, painting a clear picture of what they were trying to tell as he walked through the long courtyard. It went on for what seemed like years, and the archways looked to be getting taller as he went, which was weirdly intimidating, but what Giorno found even more distressing was that the silence he found inside the room still appeared to be following him like a ghost that had latched to him. He wanted to call out to Mista again, but he felt it was useless this time around. Not even the birds sang in the trees that surrounded the convent, it being just before dawn made that fact a lot more worrying than it had to be as Giorno knew that it was around the time he usually heard birds begin to tweet that sat on the rigid branches just outside his window. The low light-level made no room for shadows, yet as the boy approached another pillar from a colossal archway, he could tell someone was behind it. 

Without thinking the boy called out Gold Experience, readying himself for a fight as the smell of smoke filled his nose, getting closer to the pillar. Whoever was behind it made no attempts to move, but a puff of smoke that appeared concluded that the person must've been smoking. As Giorno rounded the corner of the archway, a stern look painted across his face-his nerves dropping at the sight. Both of them jumped slightly, not expecting to see the likes of each other, yet the woman seemed a lot more cautious than the boy as she scurried the cigarette that was in between in her parted lips behind her back. It was Violetta, and without any need to fight, Giorno called back his stand, relaxing his posture when he knew it was safe to. The woman looked sheepish, and that's when the thought crossed the boys mind that it most likely wasn't in the bible that nuns could smoke, explaining her suspicious behaviour, and why she was so far away from the main house of the convent. Finally, some sound amidst the silence Giorno had been enduring.  

"You won't tell Mother superior, will you?" 

Giorno smirked, "Wouldn't dream of it."

The boy perched himself against the cold, stone pillar beside Violetta, staring into the distance, the sun still yet to show its face yet it had began to get light. All there was to gaze upon was faint shadows in the distance. 

"You want one?" The woman offered, going back to smoking as she realised she was in safe hands, sounding a lot more relaxed than she was earlier. Giorno shook his head. 

"Nah I'm good."

"How old are you?" 

The question seemed out of the blue but he answered anyway. 



"sixteenth of April." 

As much as the questioning was random, Giorno felt comfortable answering the questions, but weirdly only since they were from Violetta, as there was a serene atmosphere that consumed her, like you could trust her to keep whatever to told her close to her heart. Giorno could hear from the way she puffed out some smoke from her cigarette that she had smiled, sighing gently through her nose at Gio's answers. 

"I always wondered when Mista would bring someone home. He's a piece of work." 

"Isn't he banished?" Giorno asked. 

Violetta ashed her cigarette and spoke again. 

"excommunicated to be exact." 

A silence followed. 

"Besides, a mother can dream." 

There was a part of Giorno that felt guilty as she said that, as he supposed he wasn't what anyone was expecting, but by the sounds of things, no one had been expecting Mista either as he was barely allowed to stay here as it stood. The both of them stood together for a moment before the woman looked over at the boy. 

"Guido is inside if you want him. The other sisters are pandering to him now that Mother Superior is out of the way."

Giorno shook his head. 

"I want to stay with you." he muttered with a smile, finding the woman's presence weirdly comforting, like he finally had a loving mother for a moment, and didn't want to let go of the already fleeting feeling. 

"Are you a man of faith, Mr. Giovanna?" 

Even at such a serious question the air didn't feel tense. 

"I wouldn't say I was particularly devout." Which was a lie. He wasn't at all devout, and didn't have plans to ever have some kind of religious awakening any time soon. How was a someone like Giorno meant to be a man of faith? He had lost a lot of his faith even before the concept of religion entered his mind, like when his mother would neglect him or his father would beat him until he felt dizzy. If any part of him was going to be a man of faith, it was Haruno, and that boy was dead. Quite frankly, if what he had been told about nuns was true and they could speak to God through the practice of prayer, he'd ask them to pass on a message: 'leave me the fuck alone.'

"You know I almost gave up my faith when Guido arrived here. I didn't know if I wanted to take him and run or take myself and run." 

Giorno let her carry on, his curiosity about Mista's past finally being fed into. 

"I was seventeen at the time, yet I suppose I thought of myself as a grown woman by then, those two things being very different. I was given the job of raising Guido against my will, yet I wouldn't have it any other way now though. " There was a shake in her voice that started. The chirping of birds finally within earshot. 

"He was such a small, frail baby, maybe just a couple of months when he was left outside the convent. We knew who his mother was-a local that had often come to pray after Sunday service called Carmella, but after Guido arrived here, she stopped showing up. She was young and scared no doubt, just like me, but upon reflection I hardly blame her. "

And she finished with this. 

"Mr. Giovanna, what I say now may go against God's word, but as a woman she most likely felt truly alone. All I wish is that she would come to meet Guido now. He is truly wicked for what he has done, but he is my sweet little angel to me, always."

She looked over to Giorno. 

"Will you tell me about what he's been up to?"


"I'll try my best."