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backonefish · 2 years

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Happy 40th Sebastian!

This is a highly self-indulgent thing, that popped into my head when I found out Sebastian’s 40th birthday plans.

___

When the clock struck midnight on the new year, all Sebastian could think was, "Fuck, I’m turning 40 this year."

Not a second has gone by since without him reminding his closest friends. Lamenting the fact that his back aches more, hangovers are note the same, and he's getting old.

He's only partially serious about the complaining. He's actually quite proud of everything he's achieved over the past 40 years, the wisdom that comes with age, the new heights of his career. He’s proud of his of himself and who he's chosen to surround himself with.

Speaking off - Sebastian lifts his head from where it’s cradled on his arms as he lounges in the pool, looking out onto the sea - the lights of the house are on, casting shadowy silhouettes behind closed doors. His friends had left him with strict instructions to stay away and he's only too happy to oblige, welcoming the reprieve after a ridiculously busy year.

He still wonders how he got so lucky in the friend jackpot; friends who took on planning a Greek getaway when he'd floated an idea to the boys a few months ago.

He picks his phone up from the edge of the pool.

11:55.

Five more minutes till he's 40. Fuck, he's old. The grey in his beard emphasizes that. The wrinkles around his eyes. The twinge in his right thumb when he’s on the phone for too long.

11:58.

Its fitting he's turning 40 in Greece. He's in the same time zone in which he was born. Its symbolic somehow: he’s come full circle and not cheating time.

He doesn’t get a chance to look at his phone again, his friends beating the clock when they emerge from the house, loud and obnoxious, singing, "Happy birthday to youuuuu." They’re carrying a ridiculously large cake that sends him laughing and he knows its midnight.

He lifts himself out of the pool and laughs harder at the fire on top of the cake.

"How many candles?" He manages to choke out.

"Forty," Chace answers, proudly. “I counted.”

That means there’s probably forty-three or thirty-nine candles, but Sebastian’s too happy to care, taking in a deep breath before he leans over the cake.

"Don't forget to make a wish!" Toby yells and then Sebastian blows with all his might. He gets them all, except for one.

He thinks back to his still dark phone, closes his eyes, and blows out the last candle.

---

As birthdays go, its one of the bests. He wakes up to brilliant blue skies, even bluer waters, a yacht waiting to take the group out to sea, and a phone full of messages, notifications, and voice notes.

He takes his time basking in the love and takes even longer talking to his mom. He knows she knows how much he loves her, for not only bringing him into the world but also for raising him and all the sacrifices she's made. If he's 40, that means his mother is getting older and he has every right to be sentimental, to get teary eyed as he listens to her accented declarations of love. When he tries to return the sentiments, she tuts and tells him to go off with his friends.

He checks his phone once more after he hangs up, frowning slightly at a distinctly absent name in his notifications. He shrugs it off: its still early in Boston, there's plenty of time.

He tells himself the same thing when they’re done breakfast, and again when they get on the yacht, and his phone is still missing that one birthday greeting he was looking forward to.

He's 40; his birthday is not dependent on one birthday wish.

---

The trip out on the yacht is incredible. He feels eternal, endless; caught between the sky above and the water around. His friends ply him with wine and pull him into the sea. When he’s sufficiently tanned and tired, he climbs back on board, shaking the water from his hair and licking the salt from his lips.

His phone screen is blank. No notifications at all.

Maybe the reception is bad.

"Expecting something?" Will smirks.

"Huh?" Sebastian is dragged from his thoughts to his friends looking at him with varying untrustworthy smiles that leave him narrowing his eyes. "No - I -" he fumbles with his words which is so rare with this group that he promptly shuts up.

---

When they make it back to the property, the sun is low in the sky and a heavy wooden table is set out by the pool, covered in delicate plates, rich candles, and too many forks for Sebastian to know what to do with.

He looks at his friends and Chace shrugs. "You're forty. Embrace the maturity and the class."

"He will never have class," Toby cackles as he slaps Sebastian's back and beelines it to the shower.

Sebastian seconds that idea, heading to the ensuite in his room. He washes away the salt and sun that have embedded into his skin. He can’t believe his birthday is nearly done, the anticipation and build up of the last few weeks, leading to hours that have just slipped away.

Good hours. Great, even.

Except.

When he steps out to style his hair and dress in a flowy, white, button down and pants, the sun is even lower, the sky beginning to smudge with pink and purple.

His phone has a few more notifications. But still not the one he was looking for.

As a punishment for the thought, he leaves it on his bed, heading out to dinner to catch the last few rays of his birthday.

Only.

When he steps out, there’s a distinctive set of shoulders, biceps, and ass standing against the setting sun. The sight makes Sebastian freeze in his tracks.

The mild chatter comes to a halt when the door shuts behind Sebastian and everyone turns to face him. He spares his friends a glance, making a note to discuss their shit-eating grins on their faces, but his attention is quickly brought back to that one smile that always makes time stand still.

"What - " Sebastian attempts, taking a tentative step closer. He can't say anything else, replaying late night conversations that had gotten longer and sweeter the past year, whispered hints of something more, promises of things to come, and making it impossible to ignore the growing feelings.

"My flight was delayed. I thought I wouldn’t make it, but - I’m here. Sorry I missed last night and well - most of today." He steps toward Sebastian, away from the group.

"But you had plans - with your family - you -" Sebastian knows he’s gaping, must look like an idiot. But he was expecting a text, a phone call if he’s being honest - not for him to show up in person.

"Chris," he says weakly, incredulously.

"Happy 40th, Seb," Chris says and then he’s engulfed in those arms, and Sebastian doesn’t need to pinch himself, because he’s not dreaming.

This is real.

Chris is really here, holding him, his nose tucked into Sebastian’s neck.

When Chris pulls back, its barely an inch, but its too much distance, much too soon, and Sebastian’s hands tighten their hold on Chris’ shirt as he looks into blue that’s more stunning than the sea or the sky.

Chris is staring back with a mirroring intensity before he says, "Fuck, you’re beautiful," and then the hand in Sebastian’s hair flexes and there’s no longer any distance between them because he's being kissed.

Warm and soft, expert lips prying open his own; hot, wet tongue sliding against his and Sebastian moans, pressing in closer, yearning to feel the solid length of Chris against him.

When they draw apart, gasping for breath, only then does Sebastian hear the hollers and cheers from his friends, Chace's distinctive voice yelling ‘fucking finally,’ and he breaks into a giddy laugh.

Judging by the brilliant red on Chris' face, deeper in the golden hour - he suspects Chris had forgotten their audience too.

"Sorry, I had envisioned us being in private when that happened, but you look so good and its your birthday -" he breaks off when Sebastian runs his nose along Chris.’

He says with a smile, "I think you should wish me again."

And Chris does, mouth eagerly finding Sebastian's, claiming it in a hungry kiss, that’s harder, deeper, hotter.

This – this - is the best birthday gift. Kissing Chris against a vibrant Greek sky, surrounded by his closest friends, and the smell of salt in the air.

Its surreal, its beautiful, its 40 and he thinks - the best is yet to come.

#I was debating going the more realistic route #of chris calling him and wishing him over the phone #but then i was like screw that #if i dont use fic to create the most self-indulgent fantasies then what even is the point?#happy birthday sebastian #I cant believe youre 40 mainly because i cant believe im 30 #and if i couldnt have my greek island 30th bc i had to attend a friends wedding #then im glad you do and i can pretend to live vicariously through you #hope its everything you've dreamed of and more #also this is the first thing ive written that around 1k #so it goes on here and not on ao3 #is this what a drabble is?#evanstan #evanstan rpf #rpf #also dont mind my highly inappropriate use of run on sentences and commas and semi colons #i make up grammar as i go along

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rearadmiralanarchy · 6 years

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Have a Gio/Mis Oneshot

Because I don’t know how vacations work :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14469108

Some good old meme-inspired family fun

Giorno loved his father.

Honestly, he really did, in mostly complete disregard to the multitude of what he would consider grievous shortcomings. His father was selfishly ambitious, ruthlessly cunning, heartlessly driven, and was overall charismatic and way too smart for his own good. But Dio Brando was his father and Giorno loved him regardless, as sons often do. However, he really needed his father to back off from doing that thing he always did.

The controlling and manipulative thing where he said it was for 'your own good GioGio, honest,' but it was kind of an obvious ploy to get you to do what he wanted. Signing him up for rugby (rugby!) without his knowledge was the last straw. It had taken thirty-five minutes to get his name removed from the roster and the coach was still sending him desperate emails, hopeful he would be a star just like his dear old dad and like his father. The only sport he had been interested in was tennis, scoffed at by his father, which would have been enough spiteful fuel to keep at it if only it weren't so much effort.

He was old enough now, with a stable income, almost finished with his degree, and was tired of his father trying to control every aspect of his life like he was a miniature version of himself.

Which is why Giorno was on Craigslist.

He needed something... dramatic, something shocking that would- well it would be impossible to break his father's will- but at least make him chalk him up as a lost cause (like his other three half-brothers).

Hopefully.

The best case scenario would be causing his father to give up on trying to live vicariously through him, the worst case would be Dio pouring all of his considerable resources into a reclamation effort. Giorno had a plan though, requiring just a single last cog in the wheel. Thanksgiving was a week away, and with the holiday came a traditional family meal.

'Family' in the Brando household included all four children, Dio, Uncle Diego, a few business associates, and Dio's two lovers/companions: a priest and whoever Vanilla was. This would be the perfect time to make a debacle of things, which wasn't really something he did, but if his father brought up arranged marriages one more time- this plan had to work.

He just needed to find the right person to do it with.

Hence, his excursion to the personals section, to find the right dinner guest. He'd already told his father he'd be bringing his fiance and had come up with a whole list of things sure to get his father out of his hair. After several hours of reading through posts one finally caught his eye:

"Hi my name is Mista here to offer my services this thanksgiving holiday. Do you have a family member you want to annoy? Maybe you need to come out to a parent or you just want to fuck around with your family. Whatever the reason Im your guy! For the price of one homecooked meal and twenty bucks I can:

*pick a fight with one or more family members

*beat the shit out of one or more family members indoors or outdoors

*get into a political debate (I know nothing about politics but will try)

*pretend to get smashed or pretend like Im high

*pretend we are married/engaged/pregnant

*hit on other members of your family in front of your parents

*propose in front of everyone

I am a 28 year old convicted felon with several years of jail time who can benchpress 145kg. I have nothing above a ged I got in jail and drive a loud as hell motorcycle that will make your dad both nostalgic and pull out a shotgun. I am open to both genders and am covered in tattoos and piercings. So if you need an entirely platonic person to ruin your nice family dinner Im your guy!"

He was perfect.

Giorno immediately sent an email briefly expressing his situation and requirements. As well as the kicker. Dio Brando had maybe an inkling of his persuasion towards the same sex, but still held firm that he would find a nice woman or few, maybe settle down with one for a time, and crank out a few grandchildren for him to influence since his other three actual kids didn't even inherit his hair color let alone anything else of note.

So Giorno was going to come out during the family dinner and maybe even break out the f(iance)-word to really mess with his father and his irrational fear of intimacy. He hoped the man from the posting was cute or handsome, but supposed a burly type of person would be more suitable anyway.

He didn't receive a reply until twenty minutes into his lecture the next day, surreptitiously checking his phone while the professors back was turned, to the delight of it not being spam. He requested a picture to make sure the offer wasn't a fake, which was easy and fair enough, a more detailed list of requests as well as what would be allowable in terms of what he could say and do. It was surprisingly thoughtful, Giorno assumed maybe he had done this before. As for the limitations... he really just needed his father to step back from his life, so shock value and commitment was key, he had to make his father believe he was beyond help and reason.

A picture and no limitations sent out and Giorno eagerly awaited Thanksgiving. Mista's appearance was still a mystery but he at least gleaned some semblance of what his personality was like through e-mail correspondence. He seemed like a very laid back and open sort of person, taking everything in stride.

The day before Thanksgiving, Giorno finalized his plans by buying a cheap fake engagement ring and helping Mista chose an outfit (how one man could own so much animal print was beyond him). It was exciting and nerve-wrecking all at once, and by the time the family dinner started he was ready to explode with curiosity.

Mista arrived right on schedule fifteen minutes late, a brief trio of knocks at the door and a text with 'showtime ;)'. Giorno was the one to open the door to... a tanned skin, muscled man his height and unlike anything his imagination had worked up the past week or so.

He did indeed have a few piercings along his earlobes, eyebrows, snakebites on his lips, the peeking image of a tattoo under a leather jacket and... the most gaudy clothing. A leather jacket and white and blue diamond sweater-vest over a bright orange polo, with tiger stripe pants and high white boots.

But he was handsome in a very masculine way; hard muscles and broad shoulders, short and styled hair as dark as his eyes, high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw...

He was a fashion disaster.

He was exactly Giorno's type.

Giorno was awestruck- fortunately Mista picked up the slack in time for Dio to come down the hallway in time for a "sorry I'm late babe," and for the no-longer mysterious guest with the gorgeous voice to tilt his head and plant a kiss right on the blond's lips.

Giorno could hear a faint 'wry' in the background but was able to collect himself with the kiss. Bringing his hands up to thread through surprisingly soft hair, Giorno deepened the kiss, getting a hum of approval and a higher octave 'wry'.

"I'm glad you could make it, Mista," stealthily sliding the ring box into a pocket of the leather jacket with a wink- earning a smirk in response.

Giorno turned to his father, arm wrapped around his guest, who threw an arm over his shoulder, "father, this is my fiance, Mista."

"I can see where he gets his good looks," Mista winked, unabashedly eyeing Dio up and down, "Guido Mista, you got a nice place here, pops."

He was good, Dio looked caught in a cornucopia of emotions ranging from murderous, disgusted, furious, disappointed, with a little bit of hope thrown in- he probably had a few ideas on how to split them apart. That certainly wouldn't do, and wouldn't happen, not if he had any say in it.

"Now that Mista is here, we should move on with dinner, right father?"

Dio's face twisted in a look that screamed how much he'd rather not, "yes. Let's."

As soon as Dio had turned the corner, Mista dropped his arm and quietly asked "was that all okay?"

It was so sweet, "it was perfectly fine. You are very good at this."

"Really? This is the first time I've done something like this," lightly blushing as he scratched the back of his neck.

Cute, but unfortunately he collected himself and asked "you have anything special in mind for me to do at dinner?"

"How terrible of a conversationalist can you be?"

"I've been told I range from disgusting to disturbing."

"Perfect."

Giorno and Mista sat side by side much to the annoyed eyebrow twitch of Dio and collective looks of confusion from everyone else. Father Pucci looked visibly disturbed, but it was clearly a front. Vanilla's face was unchanging.

True to his word, Mista was a force to be reckoned with at the dinner table: shamelessly flirting with Giorno's half-brother's, discussing his theory of cannibalism loudly and enthusiastically, making embarrassing noises as he fed Giorno spoonfuls of various sides (whatever matched his plate).

A part of him was caught in the sick satisfaction of watching Dio's face, the other part was relishing the attention Mista was giving him. He was incredibly observant, having quickly picked up on his facial expressions- faster than some of his family had- and able to read the room and conversation with ease. Although his topics were exaggerated and purposefully off-putting, Giorno actually found himself joining in and interjecting his own unabashed opinions, earning a pierced smile every time.

He really liked his guest, liked the way he talked and thought, liked the danger and intrigue, liked how different he was. Giorno's life was a rigid series of routines under Dio's thumb and Mista was an alluring spark that had Giorno flushing every time he was spoon-fed and cooed at, with every smile and name-drop.

He kind of really liked Mista.

He- oh right, this was platonic, wasn't it? It was all too easy and very appealing to forget that they weren't really engaged, but he might as well indulge while he could, right? So he fed Mista sometimes too, nudged his feet, held his hand, called him sweet names he'd probably never call- had never called anyone before. He was met with such positive reactions that it made him a little braver than normal, glimmers of things that made him think that maybe Mista wanted this to be real too.

As soon as dessert was served, Mista gave him a subtle wink before sliding the ring box out of his pocket.

"Giorno I- I have something to ask you," he was good, "I know I'm uneducated," Dio knew something was wrong, "and an ex-convict," but he was too desensitized, "but I... will you marry me?"

He had gotten out of his chair, on one knee, offering the ring up as everyone gaped and stared.

"Guido," smiling at the warmth in his chest and cheeks," I would love to."

Dio immediately spluttered, appalled and appealing to Giorno's rationality, Pucci loudly invoking the name of God, Diego cackling like a madman as the brother panicked. Vanilla was un-moving but seemed ready to toss Mista out on the street. If he wasn't already smitten maybe it would have worked. His pretend-fiance inhaled the dessert as Dio raged on, before eventually being escorted to the door. Giorno followed, closing the door in Vanilla's impassive face to turn to Mista.

"How'd I do? Pretty good, huh?"

Giorno couldn't help smiling, "you were the best. Absolutely perfect."

His former guest was standing very close, sliding the ring box into the blond's hands, "I really enjoyed it, doing that for you."

This was his chance, pushing the box back to tan hands (it did have his money in it after all), "would you be willing to do it again? For real this time?"

Mista looked surprised, cheeks flushing a bit, "you wanna... go on a date with me? Like, an actual date- with me?"

Giorno frowned lightly, "do you not want to?"

"No, no-I mean I- yes, I really, really want to, I just can't believe you'd want me?"

So sweet, "Mista, I'd been thinking about it all night."

"Oh... you really uh-?"

"Yes, so will you go out with me?"

"Hell yeah, uh, same time next week?"

"It's a date."

#giomis fanfic

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