Guido Mista : Family

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

Just something quick and dolce before I get back to writing my essay. This is acc a bit morbid but yano, so's suffering writing a dissertation. Also the man's eyes in this pic fuck sake, someone at DP drew this

He'd been fretting over this for months as it was, but when the whirlwind memories of Team Bucciarati slid back into his memory for the fourth April in a row, Mista was having a real crisis. His absolute desperation and longing for a strong family unit was causing him to fall into a slight depression, especially when he remembered how Bruno took him in, simply out of the kindness of his heart and the fact he could shoot a gun.
Then he would clock your happy expression, or find a fresh cup of tea beside him wherever he was sat. Small things, but things that made him smile all the less. You were the person who stuck with him besides the horrible things he did under Don Giovanna's command, the various hospital visits after his missions with Bucciarati and even his sentencing five years ago!

Lounging around on the settee fully dressed, he flinched when you draped your arms over the back of the chair to embrace him. Humming into the shell of his ear, your arms wound tighter around his chest as the smile grew on your face. You knew today was even worse for him than it would be normally, since it was the fourth anniversary, but you were determined to make it as smooth as possible for him.
"Good morning handsome, you should have woke me up," you said gently, tracing shapes into his chest with your fingertips and kissing his cheek tenderly. Slowly removing yourself from his body before he could protest, you told him you were going to fix him some breakfast and to stay put. Knotting his eyebrows in thought, he turned his head so his ear faced the kitchen, beside the sofa. A hand dove into his pocket, feeling for the small box he'd had hold of for over six months. Taking a deep breath, he picked himself up and made his way to the kitchen.
In there, you were starting a full cooked breakfast for you both, one of Mista's favourites. Swanning over to the kettle, you glanced over as he pressed the switch to start it boiling. Without a word, he prepared your coffee just how you liked it, making one for himself beside yours. Taking them over to the kitchen table, he watched as you lit the grill, beginning your toast before going into the fridge for some eggs.
"Uhh, Y/N," he called, interrupting your ingredients search. "Sit over here a moment will you?"
"Can't you just tell me from over there?" you asked, retrieving bacon and sausage too, placing them on the counter.
"No, I need you over here!"
"Alright, alright!" you repeated with a giggle. Shutting the fridge, you walked over to him, Mista eager to pull you down on the seat next to him. His hand lingered around your wrist, eventually sliding upwards to relieve you of his grasp. "I'm here, what is it?"
"Well, um... I've been thinking about something," he paused, looking away from you for a moment. "Something important."
"Something important? What is this important thing that you so desperately need me to sit at the kitchen table for?" His dark eyes scanned your face for a moment, throat closing up on him. Not that it mattered anyway, his six little friends had decided to appear and answer on his behalf. Lighting up, you greeted them all with a smile.
"The important thing is in Mista's pocket--!!!" Number Six made it halfway through his sentence before their User grabbed him back, muffling the rest.
"What have I told you about interrupting?!" he scolded, sweating a little from anxiety. You bent over slightly, checking out the shape of his pocket. Pointing, you asked about it.
"What's in your pocket? It better not be like an unpaid bill or something--"
"No! Nope. Nothing like that!!" His voice was strangely strained, like he was hiding something bad. His bullets were chattering and screaming a racket on his shoulders, fighting back. It had been too long and they too had the thought clogging up their little heads. "There's something in my pocket that's important, sure, but uhhh... Well," he took it out, hiding it behind his skinny fingers. His black eyes eyed it in his palms, eyes darting away quickly. "You can't see it. You aren't... You just can't."
"Guido, it can't be that bad. Did you break something?"
"No--!" His laugh was a nervous, jittery chuckle, the sound utterly confusing you. His emotions were utterly bursting in his mind, stomach tensing, skin in a sweat. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, you both heard the sound of singing beside you both. Checking his hands, he noticed the little bastards had jibbed the box before he could even open it! You looked at them, in absolute awe. The six of them were stood there, singing Dean Martin's 'That's Amore!' and making kissing noises, much to Mista's embarrassment. Number Five walked over, struggling to carry something heavy and shiny in his baby arms. You tried to lighten the load for him, when it was snatched from his hands by no other than your agitated lover.
"Jesus Christ, calm down, you're going to end up having an aneurysm!"
"I just want you and nobody else!" Confused, you stifled a laugh to avoid upsetting him since he was doubled over, head in his hands. "Oh, fucking hell. That's... Not what I meant..."

Scooping up the Sex Pistols in your hands, you stared at them lovingly and made them promise not to interrupt him as he told you what was so important. They were set down again, and Mista could finally deliver his question.
He opened his mouth slightly, your scream coming out instead.
"The fucking grill!!! Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. The landlord is going to kill us!" Pulling out the remnants of your toast, four piles of cremated bread met your eyes. Sighing, you guessed that stupid cat story had some truth after all.
"The landlord is gonna kill us, huh? Guess that settles it then." Grabbing your left hand, he pushed a ring on the third finger nonchalantly, completely desensitised to the whole palava. If you rejected him now, he was just going to move to Nepal and begin a new life as a goat. "You wear this and... We'll move somewhere nice, somewhere bigger." You stopped, eyes widening at the sparkling crystal on your finger. Was he actually asking you to marry him? "We'll buy a farm and keep chickens or something like in the movies. Then we can have three kids, or five. But it has to be either below three or more than five beca--!"
"Shut your mouth," you choked, tears filling up your eyes.
"Oh shit," he murmured, worried this had gone beyond shamefully hiding out in Nepal as an animal. "Babe, I didn't mean to make you cry! Just forget about it, we don't have to--" Throwing your arms round him, you cried actual tears of joy. He was quiet for a second, processing your reaction. Soon, it dawned on him he hadn't even asked the actual question. Biting his lip, he pushed you back just far enough to look at your beaming face.
"So, will you marry me? You know, since the landlord is going to kill us for burning his shitty oven."
"I'd marry you even if he wasn't going to."

Grabbing him by the collar, you kissed his mouth passionately, serving up an entirely different breakfast instead.

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