Requested By: @KillerQueenDuck

Title: "Attention"

Pairing: Mista/Sex Pistols x reader

Word Count: 1099

~

After a long mission, you lay splayed out on the couch in the communal house that you share with the other members of Bucciarati's team. You close your eyes for a second before a few joyous yells interrupt the quiet.

"Y/nnn!" The high voices of the [Sex Pistols] cheer.

Each of the small Stands rush to you, leaping around your head. A few gently tug at your hair to get your attention.

"Hey, Number One, Two, Three, Five, Six, Seven," you greet each one, opening your eyes.

They grin and hug your face.

You laugh and hold out your hand, "Are you hungry?"

"Yes!" They clamber onto your hand, Number Three shoving Number Five in the process.

"Hey, be nice," you chastise as you walk.

Number Three has the sense to back off from his bullying as you carry them.

"Ok, here you go," you get to the kitchen, grabbing some salami for the hungry guys.

"Yay! Thanks, Y/n!" Each one says before munching on the food.

You observe them with a smile, "So cute..."

"Pistols, where are you?!" Mista yells, in search of his rambunctious Stand.

"They're over here!" You answer.

"Aww, why'd you do that?" Number Two asks with a pout.

"He always takes us from you," Number Five states woefully.

You raise your brow at them as Mista enters the kitchen.

"What are you doing? Stop bugging Y/n!" He demands, rushing over to remove his Stand from your hands.

Smiling, you relinquish them, laughing lightly at their fierce protests, "They're not bugging me, Mista. It's okay."

"It's not okay," he huffs.

You calmly watch as he attempts to keep them away from you.

"No," Number Five cries, "Don't let him take me! I love you, Y/n!"

Mista glares at his Stand but you stop him from acting.

You pat the tearful Stand, bringing him to you cheek in a hug, "It's fine, Number Five. I'm not going anywhere. You'll all see me later. Just, be good for Mista in the meantime, okay?"

Mista blushes at your actions, although you don't notice.

"O-okay..."

Each of the Pistols disappear, leaving you and the assassin alone.

"How are you?" You ask him, washing off your hands before preparing a snack for yourself.

He smirks, "Never better. The mission went better than expected."

"Nice. Oh, want some?" You offer him some of your snack.

He nods quickly, never one to pass up food. As he takes it from your hand, his fingers graze against your palm.

"H-how was your day?"

You sit down at the table, "Good. I cleaned the house, though I doubt anyone will notice."

"Is that what's different?" He asks, looking around. He realizes just how clean and shiny everything looks, not a spec of dust to be found.

Smiling, you move to take a piece of food before a hand stops you.

You look up, puzzled.

Mista is holding your hand, staring at the plate with wide eyes, "Don't!"

"Wha-?" You observe your food and realize there's four pieces left. "Oh."

"It's bad luck," he says adamantly.

You stand, lifting a piece, and proceed to throw it in the trash, "I know."

He watches you in adoration. He loves how you never mock him for his beliefs, instead taking them as seriously as he does.

"Thanks for warning me," you smile sweetly, finishing your treat.

He nods, at a loss for words.

"See ya later," you place your dish in the washer before walking off to take a deserved nap.

His Stand reappears.

"Go after her Mista!"

"Tell her how hot she is!"

"Look at that body!"

"She likes you back!"

"Do something nice for her!"

"Kiss her!"

He glares at them, "Shut up!"

|||||

Another long day.

You idly sip your beverage on the couch, hardly noticing when the [Sex Pistols] sneak up on you. They snuggle on your shoulders and cheeks.

"Hey, cuties," you greet with a sleepy chuckle.

They begin to chatter with you, and you listen with a smile, patting each one's head.

In the other room, observing through the open doorway, the rest of the team sit. Mista groans at his Stand's behaviour while Bucciarati smiles knowingly.

"They won't listen to me! They always bug her! It's embarrassing..."

Narancia narrows his eyes in your direction, "She doesn't seem bothered..."

"I don't think she minds, Mista," Bucciarati comforts.

"Honestly," Abbacchio grumbles, "Look at her."

Mists turns his attention back to you, watching as you give Number Five a kiss because Number Three punched him.

The rest of the Pistols then demand their own kisses, making their user heat up in humiliation.

"She doesn't act that way towards any of our Stands," Abbacchio continues, trying to get his obvious point across.

Mista frowns, "That's 'cause your Stands are never out at home."

Fugo smacks him across the head, "You idiot! That's not the point."

"What's the point then?" He asks, rubbing his now-aching head.

Giorno speaks up, "She's very affectionate with the Pistols."

"Yeah, they never leave her alone! It's annoying."

"I think you're jealous," Bucciarati offers, "Because they are getting her attention and you are not."

Mista blushes, "What? No, that's not- I don't..."

Each member watches with a sense of victory as Mists comes to an understanding.

"Go tell her how you feel," Narancia smiles encouragingly.

|||||

"No, Number One, I like each of you the same. There are no favourites," you insist.

Steps come your way, making you smile at the newcomer, "Hey, Mist."

"Y/n, can I talk to you?"

"Of course. Go on, guys."

The Pistols whine but obey your gentle command.

Mists sears himself beside you, "I want to tell you something..."

You nod, heartbeat starting to rise. It's no secret that you like the gunslinger a whole lot.

"I love you," he blurts.

Before he can say anything else, you kiss him quickly.

He's frozen for a moment.

You grin widely, "I love you too, Misty. I'm so glad you feel the same!"

He kisses you this time, clashing his needy lips against yours.

You break off, "I was hoping the Pistols were telling the truth."

"What? What'd they say?!"

You chuckle, "They said you liked me... and that you think I'm hot."

His face burns in embarrassment.

"Relax, I'm glad that your Stand loves me as much as you do," you press your hand against his chest. "And now I can show you how much I love you."

"Get a room," Abbacchio gripes, glass of wine in hand.

Rolling your eyes, you rise, practically dragging Mists with you.

"We will."