MISTA TIME LETS GO! Yo, Mista has some real fucking potential to be the best yandere, because guy has a fucking stand he can use to watch the reader or person. HE GOT A FUCKING GUN YALL, THE GUN PLAY IS UP FOR GRABS!

Can yall tell I love Mista?

Pairing: Guido Mista/Reader

Rating: T

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure belongs to Hirohiko Araki.

"M-Mista, I-I'm sorry! I won't do it again! I-I promise!"

Guido Mista was calmly sitting down at your small kitchen table and methodically cleaning his pistol. He didn't even look up at you once and you whimpered pitifully from where Mista made you kneel at his feet. Not once did your boyfriend acknowledge you and you felt your heart fall to your stomach; you felt sick. You were in so much pain and bit your fist to keep from crying. You were so stupid! You should have known that Mista wasn't a fucking idiot! There was no way he was, he worked with Bucciarati in his squad, he had to be smart to keep up with the people in that squad. But you assumed due to his kind and easy going nature, that he would let his guard down.

But Mista never did, not for a single second.

Earlier in the night he had caught you trying to crawl out of the window of your apartment's bedroom to get to the fire escape. Where you would then run two blocks to where a friend of yours would be waiting to whisk you away, to safety. Away from Mista. Away from the deplorable way Mista had tried to control your life, and how he always claimed that it was for the best. That everything he was doing was for you and your safety.

You had thought Mista was dumb enough to not put one of the Sex Pistols to watch over you because he trusted you. To your horror you heard Number 5 let out a little gasp when you got the window open, and you heard the loud stomps of Mista's footsteps as he ran to the bedroom. To stop you, you assumed. You threw yourself out the window and landed hard on the unforgiving metal of the fire escape.

From there you had little time to get your bearings and started to descend as fast as you could. Your heart was pounding hard in your chest and you basically jumped from the second story in your bid to escape. With your heartbeat roaring in your ears, you had become deaf to the world and didn't hear the earth shattering sound of a single gunshot.

Instead you heard the tell-tale sounds of Mista's Sex Pistols calling out 'YEEHAW', and you felt pain. God it hurt so much that you crumbled to the pavement like a piece of paper. Your left leg was burning, it was a horrid pain that you couldn't even begin to describe. Your vision was blurry with your tears and you thought that you were going to die. You couldn't breathe, you were trying to breathe but you couldn't get a deep enough breath to calm down.

Then you saw Mista's face as he crouched down next to you.

The pain you felt must have done something to your head, because you were afraid of his expression.

Normally he was so expressive, you could tell when he was happy or sad or angry or tired, but when he stared at you all you saw was a blank stare. It reminded you of the dead fish at supermarkets, and that terrified you more than the thought of him shooting you did.

He didn't say a word to you and neither did any of the Sex Pistols. Wordlessly, Mista picked you up and carried you back into your shared apartment. He wrapped the bullet wound, at the position where leg meets ankle, your Achilles Heel you thought miserably, and then set you on the floor next to the kitchen table. Where Mista then pulled up a chair and began to unload and clean his gun.

Leaving you to your current situation.

No matter what you promised, or what you could try to entice him with, Mista kept his composure and kept cleaning his gun. You were left kneeling next to him with the back of your legs still oozing blood, staining the bandages and smearing on the floor. Even when he had finished cleaning and reassembled his gun, Mista didn't say anything to you and kept his gaze averted.

You were in deep trouble.

Why did you even think it was a good idea to even leave? Mista had been so kind and caring despite his overbearing and possessive nature; even when he was tired and snappy from a late night mission he would give you a smile. When you had heard Mista tell you that your friends were all lying to you, you yelled at him, and now you can't help but wonder if he had been right all along. When he went through your phone and social media, rooting around and deleting things, you had been furious at the lack of privacy. When Mista had taken to following you and joining you for outings with your family, you had pushed him away viciously. Telling him to leave you alone. But you forgot he was in the mafia, you forgot that Mista was a gangster with many enemies.

Maybe every little thing that you had been mad at him about was justifiable. Maybe he had done these things for your own good, even though you hadn't known about it.

Though it didn't excuse the fact that he had shot you. Your Mista, your sweet boyfriend, had used his gun, the one he promised to use only to protect you and his friends, and shot you.

It made no sense, because Mista loved you; why would someone that loved you even think of hurting you? How could he ignore you while you were in pain?

You had no idea on how long you had knelt at Mista's feet before you bowed forward, dizzy, and hugged his feet close to you. You ignored the stale smell of his feet and was glad for something to steady you as you lay on the ground.

Even through all that he didn't say a word, but Mista did stare at you.

His silence hurt more than the gunshot wound.

You sniffled pitifully, "Please Mista, it hurts. Make it stop please, make it stop hurting." And you curled up against his feet and legs to try and escape the pain. Hairs on the back of your neck rose in alarm when Mista's hands smoothed the hair around your neck down. They trailed down to grasp at you as his strong arms lifted you up into his lap. Mista still didn't say a word to you, instead choosing to hum softly under his breath.

He cradled you close to his chest, and you realized that even in the haze of anger he had when he shot you, Mista didn't act rough with you. He still held you carefully as he bandaged your leg, and set you down softly. Even after all the pain he caused, Mista still loved you enough to treat you with the kindness that you didn't deserve.

"I'm sorry Mista, I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad at me, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Mista cut you off with a delicate 'shh'.

Using his arm to maneuver your head to rest in the crook of his neck, Mista let his words wash over you softly.

"Tesoro, I was never mad at you. I got angry in the moment, but after I saw what I done, there was no way I could be mad at you."

Mista smiled as he felt you settle against him, and kissed the crown of your head.

"I just had to calm down, cara, so let's get you fixed up," he whispered as he rose from his seat slowly.

You cried a little as your leg jostled slightly despite Mista moving slowly and he shushed you again.

"Don't worry cara, I'll fix this."

And he would.

"I love you."

And he did.

I could go on and on with Mista, but I feel it's best left here.

Ragehappy Mavin Fan