jjba oneshot type beat

Guido Mista • Six Pistols

Requested by @KillerQueenDuck 

Number five has my HEART

•

A pivotal moment for a dull day—Narancia had unknowingly sat on Abbacchio's headphones and they were very broke. Now, you say pivotal because it was thoroughly entertaining to watch Fugo gently persuade Narancia into confessing to a moderately terrifying man with arguable anger issues. 

And by gently persuaded—meant Narancia now had four small holes in his cheek.

Yourself and Mista had found this whole situation extremely amusing. Narancia was utterly screwed and you both agreed to tag along as emotional support when in reality, you both just wanted a good laugh. 

So cut to you all, outside Abbacchio's door.

"Knock," Fugo prompted.

Narancia shook his head. "I really don't want to."

"You can do this, Narancia."

"I can't knock. I have no hands."

Fugo glared, tried someone else.

"Mista, please could you knock on the door?"

But Mista was pretending he was deaf.

His glare switched to you—maybe, you weren't sure. Your eyes were closed.

"Knock, (Y/n)."

You faced the wrong direction. "I can't. I can't see."

Fugo huffed. "You're all unbelievable—"

The door suddenly swung open, a fuming Abbacchio looming over the group. You pried your eyes open at the sound of Narancia letting out a strangled noise of fear.

"What?" He bit. "What do you all want?"

And all eyes fell upon poor Narancia, who tried to shrink back into the small huddle, but was shoved forward by Mista. You stifled a laugh.

"Well?" Abbacchio cued.

The following moments were downright comical—with Narancia being a stuttering ball of fear, Abbacchio physically assaulting him—everything you expected and more. Now what wasn't foreseen, however, was being chased through the house by said scary man.

Mista's bedroom door slammed shut and relief was a nice feeling. You grinned. "And what do you expect us to do, if Abbacchio rampages on through here?"

Unfazed and too cocky for his own good, your boyfriend pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the door. "Simple solution; shoot on the spot."

At that, the cylinder clicked open and a little yellow head popped out.

"Mista! You can't be serious about shooting Abbacchio!" Number Five protested tearfully.

In awe of the cuteness, you held a hand over your mouth because the urge to scream was a totally natural response, of course. Mista sighed, holding the gun on its side, as the other five climbed out. Perched on the bed, Mista set them down and they roamed freely. 

Rushing to see them as if your life depended on it, you greeted the cheerful pistols with a beaming grin. 

"It's (Y/n)!" Number Five acknowledged like it couldn't quite believe its eyes, racing over to land gracefully on your shoulder.

Its little arms stretching across your neck made you hold a hand to your chest, your heart almost definitely about to burst. "Ciao, cute little Number Five."