secret ☆ giorno giovanna x reader

XXII. [killing me softly]

[warning: spoilers for stand abilities in vento aureo]

The pink, purple, and orange hues of the sunset illuminate the blonde's figure, his disheveled locks flowing like silk in the wind and reflecting the light that was upon them. Like glass, the green eyes were delicate and glossy and focused on his slender digits, which rested on the cold, sleek steel handle.

I'm going.

The door is relatively new, and it doesn't make a loud or creepy sound when he pushes it open.

"Hello?" He asks, and just a bit further is a man wearing a dress shirt and pants, who greets him kindly. He's pristinely dressed, and gives off the effect of 'average and not noteworthy'. Someone that could be forgotten easily.

"Good afternoon! May I help you?" He smiles the token faux business smile, making Giorno feel a little sick.

"Does your boss go by 'Rosario'?"

A pause.

"Why, ye-"

The man's face is immediately slammed into the blonde's knee - Giorno's fingers made their way in his hair in one swift movement, gripping it until his knuckles turned white before pulling harshly enough for hair to be ripped out. His nose made contact with the joint, and Giorno could only imagine the feeling; what he could only describe from experience as the nauseous wave that cramps his stomach as a harsh pain ripples from his jaw.

As much as the mafioso wished to fulfill the needs that were clearly portrayed by the rushing flow of his blood through his veins and the rage that swept through him, he didn't have much time.

And so he sprinted past his enemy, who was still in shock from the attack with the iron-rich red liquid dripping down his nose, and made his way to the only available way upwards that he could see: the stairwell.

The sudden burst in energy further fueled Giorno's physical capability, which was even further intensified by his high drive to find you.

He ascended the floors one by one, socking any nearby enemies in the face or landing a smoothly-performed kick to their gut.

What surprised him the most was that the men he walked past were all stumbling around dizzy, as if drunk. Whether they were drinking to celebrate, he did not know. What they would celebrate, he did not know. But the thought that perhaps they were already celebrating his defeat before it had happened crossed his mind, and he only clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Please, please let there be spare time.

As soon as he reaches the highest level he could with the stairs, he realizes that it still isn't enough. There's one more floor, except he can't find it at all; the stairs end at the floor before the last; Giorno figures there's yet another staircase on this floor.

He enters, and it's dead silent compared to the others.

The hallway felt of lacking temperature, a harsh contrast to the immense heat that racked Giorno's figure earlier. A shiver runs down his back at the feeling of his now cold sweat trickling down the side of his neck and past his collar, stopping at his clavicle. His heart beats profusely in his ear due to the predicament and rush he had put himself a mere moment ago, in which he was sprinting up multiple floors of stairs at lightning speed. His cheeks, which were pink due to prolonged physical activity, were slowly cooling.

Suddenly, there's a needle-like prick to the tips of his fingers as he trudges forward. No more than a tiny little pinch - little enough that it could go unnoticed.

However, Giorno was the type of person to be extremely attentive about even the slightest occurrences, so it wasn't much of a wonder when he flinches slightly at the sensation(albeit believing that he must have imagined it). He examines them, but there was no wound, so it was of little merit to him.