JJBA x Readers

Guido Mista : Future

I feel like I've posted something like this before so I'm sorry if I have!

Bucciarati's funeral, the last of the gang's goodbyes. You had remarked how beautiful he looked in his casket, a wreath obscuring his chest to hide the wound. He looked just like a sleeping angel. Narancia was buried with one of his beloved records, preserved forever in his memory. Abbacchio joined the one person who ruled his mind long after his mistake. Three funerals in one week. It was maddening. To make things worse, the anniversary of their deaths was on the same, shit day of the year, April 5th. This year was the fifth year since they were taken.

Six years had passed and Mista was still no stranger to wandering. He knew all the streets in Naples, each one ingrained in his memory after years of chilling out under the stars. Today, you had taken yourself along with him, even though he was only grabbing a food shop and would be back 'later'.
Sure, he always came back; even though times were rough now Bucciarati was gone, but you'd lost count of the amount of times he'd come home battered and bruised like the old days, bloodied from his fighting getting aggressively out of hand. The bullets had promised they would look after him for you and you trusted them, but sometimes your boyfriend was a bit too destructive for his own good. Depression was something he had never felt before, looming over him like a permanent rain-cloud on a humid day. He'd gotten into a few altercations here and there, disappearing sometimes for days on end to try and numb the sorrow embedding itself deep within his soul, but the scar on his shoulder served as a reminder to him. Things happen, but the aftermath is what shows.

Clutching onto his hand, you noticed your boyfriend was a tiny bit distant. Calm as usual, but not as engaging as he would be usually. It was normal for him to want his space on this day, so you assumed that was all it was. Strolling together on the main road, the young man glanced at you every now and then if you would stop and pull him back occasionally to look through a shop window. The life of an underboss was more demanding than ever, but he was slotting in well to the job, grateful to be working under Giorno after Bucciarati's passing. You tried to encourage him to work hard, since Spring was a time of new beginnings and life, but whilst he tried to take it in, sometimes it didn't soak through the outer casing of lacking.
Flowers were starting to bloom in the city now, adding a pop of colour to what had been a dreary and wet winter. Keeping quiet, Mista simply looked around as he walked, enjoying the scenery and serenity of nature. Suddenly, you wrapped yourself around his arm, pulling yourself closer to him with a content sigh. His dark eyes looked at you briefly, trying to understand your reaction.
"It's nice to walk instead of getting the bus," you expressed, matching your steps up to his on the pavement. "Especially getting to walk with you, Guido."
He smiled gently, warmed by your words. The Bullets muttered amongst themselves, poking out of his pockets every now and then to take a breath of clear air. You giggled as he shushed them, his usual reaction when they chattered.

It was busy, but not utterly packed. Taking the trolley, you pushed it, letting your boyfriend be master of the list. He really put his mind to it, talking about all the meals you were going to make together and how one wine complimented this cheese, or how another was meant for that. He was picking up all sorts of things you didn't need in the home section, eventually straying to the clothes section. You knew his idle chit-chat was only to hide his sadness, making you feel further obliged to engage.
The truth was, he was absolutely terrified of losing you.
Mista wanted to finally get married and move somewhere nice. To go on holidays and outings, make a big family and remain by your side forever. He wanted all of these things before it was too late. He'd lived his life carefree, but so many near death experiences proved it was a ticking time bomb, even in his little bubble. The pair of you may only have been shy of twenty two, but the deaths of his friends recurring every year and Trish's situation had reminded him just how special you were to him. He needed you in order to live.
However, for every reason he could think of as to why you would say yes, ten more popped up to shoot him down before you could. Giggles surfaced in his mind, sounding identical to yours. Turning to the noise, he found you waving at him with a smirk.
"You seem attached to that, but I don't think it will fit!" Confused, he glanced down at his hands, noticing he'd picked up some baby clothes. They were soft on his skin, a two-piece set with little tiger prints all over it. Mista had probably only picked it up to feel the fabric, but the way you were staring at him was making him all embarrassed. His yearning had obviously been worse than he thought. "It wouldn't even fit the Bullets, what a shame. It's cute." Sighing, the gangster put it back, averting his face so you couldn't see it. Why couldn't he just say it?
"Y/N, if we had a kid what do you think it would like? They'd get their beauty from you, I know that!" Rolling your eyes, you touched your lips, a smile crossing them. It was a good sign, he supposed.
"They'd have your fashion sense, I'm sure," you replied, getting up on your tiptoes to gently peck his mouth. "Mixing prints." Swallowing with a light blush covering his face, he glanced at you from his taller height, admiring how relaxed you looked stood with him. He didn't realise he was doing it, but he was slowly bending to your level, attracted to your mouth. Mista bumped into your cheek, making you turn to face him with a gasp.
"Oh, sorry Y/N. I got distracted." He scratched the back of his head, visibly straining with his thoughts.