Guilty Conscience ~ Abbacchio/Fem Reader

Chapter 30: No Way Out, No Way Down

Bucciarati was falling. He was moving through the air without remorse. And all that Y/N could do was watch.

"Bucciarati!"

She screamed his name in vein, as if by her command he would stop before his body hit the ground. Or before the mould consumed him entirely.

But she was too late.

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30 minutes earlier. . .

Mista controlled the throttle as Y/N took charge of reading the map. It should've been the other way around, with Mista on map duty and Y/N taking control of their tiny tub, but after spending the past quarter hour trying to figure out which way was 'up' on the map, the Gunslinger was revoked of his directional duties.

"I seriously can't believe you and Abbacchio were up here canoodling each other while everyone could hear," Mista said with a smirk. "I mean, I figured you'd probably been crushin' on the big oaf for the past lil' while, but I woulda' never guessed that Abbacchio could feel stuff. . . like emotions."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, you butthead? And that's pretty bold coming from the guy who can't read a map," Y/N bit back with a smile. "You can read my emotions but you can't find North on the compass?"

"Um, excuse me, I can read a map," He said flicking the flap of his hat as if it were his hair, "I just can't read a map in the dark."

Y/N giggled at the Gunslinger's sass. For a guy who was so intimidating to look at, he could pull out all sorts of sass from seemingly nowhere. One minute he's all tough and mighty, and the next, he's got his hip popped and is shooting side eyes at anyone who walks too closely to his designer shoes.

"Yeah! Mista can do anything! Especially when he feeds us," a small voice chided from beside Y/N's ear.

"Mmm," another hummed. "I sure could use a snack right now!"

"Guys, guys! Settle down," Mista whisper-shouted at the tiny floating figures. "We can get food once we dock the boat! I promise!"

Six figures, the colour of bullet casings and the size of the sour ring candies Narancia keeps offering Y/N floated around both the Phantom and the Gunslinger. Mista's Stand, Y/N learned, didn't come as a single entity, but as many. The Sex Pistols is what he called them. Each of which having a number written on the tops of their heads; one through seven, skipping the number four, making six small bullets in total. And it was only after learning her true identity that the little troublemakers felt comfortable enough showing themselves in front of her.

"Y/N!" Number 5 whined. "Do you have any snacks?"

"Aw," she cooed, taking the smallest of the bullets into her palm. "I'm sorry, 5. But I don't have anything for you. Though, Narancia might have something for you inside the turtle. You should ask him. He always seems to have semi-expired candy on hand." The last bit of what she said came as more of a mumble.

"Narancia doesn't share!" Number 3 exclaimed. "He won't give us any candy!"

"You know who else doesn't share?" Mista asked without looking at anyone in particular. The Pistols exclaimed their curiosity as they swarmed the Gunslinger's face.