JJBA x Readers

NSFW Guido Mista : Joining the Mile High Club

WARNING DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE HEAVILY SPOILED FOR P5

747 or a VC 10, winter, summer who knows when? I mainly just wanted a reason to become an Italian slang sexpert, so here it is, I used a variety of websites, wiki and translate for this one. It's probably going to end up some action two parter due to that bombshell at the bottom. I'll have some more Mista soon and there's a Bruno fic in the works from a request given to me in October! (Sorry girl)  

The ending isn't to my liking but whatever, hopefully it will be to you guys'!

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

It was risky, but he didn't care. Being risky at 35,000 feet had its own arousing capabilities and being crammed into an aircraft toilet knowing there was a chance of being caught was right up Mista's street. Your boyfriend had tugged on your pant leg, cocking an eyebrow and using several hand gestures before eventually giving up with the game of charades and leaving to go to the bathroom. Ten minutes had passed, and the Italian still hadn't returned, worrying you a little. It meant one of two things : He was sick or he was waiting for you. Glancing round, the other members of the team were minding their own business, heads in magazines and on-flight entertainment, so they hadn't even noticed he was missing! Abbacchio, the stoic goth, had his headphones on, as did Narancia, turned so loud it could be heard three seats back. Bruno was reading the on-board magazine, admiring the countries you were flying over whilst Fugo was contently enjoying a screening of Gladiator on the in-flight entertainment system. Biting your lip, you briefly searched round for an air-sickness bag, clutching it tightly so it crackled in your grip. You stood up, carrying the paper bag to the back of the plane, the direction your lover had gone in.
It was obvious the two of you were together, leading to Bucciarati feeling uneasy about the pair of you sharing missions due to the possibilities of sacrifice being higher than just between two colleagues; but he supposed since you got the job done, there was no harm. You were both adults, after all.
Pardoning yourself as you scraped past other members of the public wandering through the narrow gangway, you found the toilet was occupied, as you had imagined it would be. Lying in wait behind the door on a closed toilet lid was the missing member of Passione.
Mista's ears pricked up to the sound of nails lightly rapping on the plastic, making him realise that speaking in Italian would be beneficial right now. If the person answered back either not in your voice or in another language, he wouldn't be in the clear and would have to think of an excuse quickly.
"Mi scusi?" [Excuse me?]
"Guido, are you alright?" He sighed, unable to process how dumb you were being. Confirming in Italian that it was him, you pulled a face, pressing your cheek to the door.
"Perche parli Italiano?" [Why are you speaking Italian?] Were you really this dense!? He'd literally talked about joining the mile high club days ago! The thought popped into his head that perhaps you weren't interested, or worried about the high risk so you were trying to avoid it.
"Ti senti male?" [Do you feel sick?] Though your accent was off a little, he understood your meaning even when you began to say something about a sickbag in some jumbled up tense. Upon moving to Italy, you had learned most words to keep conversation in the language but didn't always get them in the right order.
"Si, mi sento terribile!" [Yeah, I feel terrible!] Your boyfriend's tone was playful and urgent, underlying sensual tones flying straight over your head since what he said was negative. Mumbling something about you being a moron sometimes under his breath, the frenzied repetitions of 'Sacchetto!' at a high pitch in the correct way eventually made you realise he obviously needed that sick bag pronto.
"Ohhh! Well why didn't you say so! You didn't have to speak Italian for that!" He unlocked the door, inviting you in to retrieve the 'sickbag'. Wedging yourself in alongside him, you continued to tell him about how you were still learning and he had to be more patient with you regarding the language. Shutting the door behind you, you suddenly found yourself backed up against the sink. Mista leaned to click the lock in the door, towering over you in the cramped bathroom. The lustful leer in his jet black eyes told you all you needed to know, dark irises sinking down to observe your quivering bottom lip. Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, he rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Y/N, you're so fucking dense. What did you think I wanted?"
"Well I don't know, I brought the sick bag because you hadn't come back for ages." Acting coy wasn't going to fool this man. "And that gesture before could have meant anything."
His eyes didn't leave yours for a single second, even when you lined your palms with his hips.
"Facciamolo qui," [Let's do it here] he murmured, centimetres away from your nose. Hands creeping up his stomach towards the hem of his jumper to toy with it a little before leaving it alone to drape them straight round his neck, he spilled some Italian sweetness in your ear, smooching your face and jaw in between his mewls and begs for you, hands wandering beneath your top to find some soft skin. "Mm, Il tuo corpo... E' perfetto..." [Mm, your body, it's perfect...] Baring teeth, you allowed him to slick your hair back, hands settling on either side of your head so you wouldn't fall over when your lips met. "E la tua pelle sembra seta" [And your skin is like silk]
The first kiss was slow and gentle, letting one another to get a taste of the risk. Nerves pooled in your stomach, as they did Mista's.
He couldn't believe he was finally getting to do this. Kissing again and again, they became more frenzied, adding to the heat in the tiny room. Gripping your thighs, you were hoisted up onto the sink, perched just far back enough to give him enough space for the initial deed. Peppering handfuls of pecks all over your jaw and neck, you couldn't help but draw out a low moan.
Since things were moving smoother than he had anticipated, two fingertips slid downwards beneath your skirt, brushing your clothed lips with a tender touch. One hand dabbed your entrance, the other held your back to keep a closeness which Mista needed, whilst your hands were unsure where to put themselves. They travelled down his arms, stroked his chest and clung onto his back until they flew up to swipe the hat from his head, revealing a mass of messy hair underneath. Combing your fingers through the onyx tresses, he couldn't help but moan a little as you massaged his scalp making out, spit beginning to collect between your mouths. "Voglio che ti liccami la micio, Guido..." [I want you to lick my pussycat(kitty), Guido]