JJBA x Readers

Guido Mista : Fighting Old

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

Still shrouded in a fine mist, the humid stench of death clung to your clothes and flesh as you knelt beside him. You weren't fully aware, but Bucciarati had just thrown Proscuitto off his colleague's fishing line, forcing the aging to diminish and begin to wear off... For now.
The only reason you had even been sat on the train in the first place was because he wouldn't disclose where he was disappearing off to.
So; like a complete idiot you'd followed him, prepared to offer your Stand wherever possible, even if it meant it was against his will.

Now you were knelt on the floor beside your boyfriend's dying body, whilst the Italian's sobbing Stand begged you to do something. The aging had already taken a rapid hold of Mista, your body beginning to respond to the same treatment. Reviving the Pistols with ice had been easy, since they were so young and small, but you were certain Mista was too far gone now. Panicked, you did a quick body count of your six little cherubs.
"Where's Number Six?" you asked the Bullets, looking around the cabin alarmedly.
"I sent him to accompany Bucciarati," the golden fifth spike whimpered, unable to stop the tears. Number Five was always crying, but this had triggered him to be worse than ever.
"Hey," you called, plucking him from the recovering group and letting him sit in the palm of your hand. "Don't cry, Number Five, you did your best." Mista felt your touch through his Stand, the tips of your fingers stroking over its head sending a memorable spark through his mind as Number Five let feelings of safety and security wash over him like a calming ocean wave. He could hear you talking, but his body wasn't allowing him to move as his vitals continued to decrease. "I'm proud of you," you choked. "All of you and, we'll do something." Though he couldn't really move much, his aging had reversed a little, since Grateful Dead's User was being crushed by the train wheels on the outside. Sobbing, you were struggling to keep it together, blood drying on his face where three bullets had bashed into his skull. You started to tumble to the ground, exhausted and weak from aging so rapidly.
"What's going to happen to Mista, Y/N?" one of them cried, concerned for his User's wellbeing. Looking into his dark eyes from where you were lay, they looked back weakly, but alive. Crawling over towards him, you dragged his limp head over onto your lap, cradling it until you fell asleep, right into Grateful Death's trap.

"Bucciarati won!" Amongst high fiving and cheering, you heard your name being mumbled beneath you. Lifting your head, you recognised Mista's dark gaze, that glint that you knew sparkling back at you.
"Oh my God, you're alive," you whispered, bending over to kiss his mouth Spiderman-style. He swallowed, eyes looking for the Bullets since he could hear them, but he couldn't see them. Preferably, Mista wanted to talk to you without them in earshot anyway since they were filthy, sneaky bastards.
"When I said I wanted to grow old with you... This is not what I meant," Mista stammered, cheeks burning. You burst out laughing, a few tears escaping your eyes when he joined in.
"You're cute but, I'm not going to apologise for following you."
"I'll let you off this time, since it was ice of you to drop by..."