secret ☆ giorno giovanna x reader

XXII. [killing me softly]

The silence was becoming eerie at this point, the air conditioner's droning becoming a bit too intense in the quiet air and also cooling him a little too much.

"I don't appreciate you barging in like this, Giorno."

Said man whips around, but there's no one there; just the blond and the empty hallway. And an annoying fly bumbling and tumbling around the ceiling light, obviously.

"I'm over here, stupid."

Giorno turns back in the other direction, to which the man of the hour stands at the other end of the hallway.

Clad in the same outfit as in the live recordings the gang had received, Rosario was unmistakable.

"You...!" In a fit of pure rage, Giorno leaps towards Rosario, brows furrowed and a scowl on his face. He was the traitor, of course. But worse - he was the kidnapper. The kidnapper of you.

Before he can get much closer, however, Giorno's legs give up underneath him, his figure dropping to its knees in an instant. His muscles instantly lose all tension of contraction, and his tendons and ligaments feel loose, as if they're made of dental floss.

"You're reckless," Rosario frowns.

"You're one to talk," he spits back.

The former crosses his arms and casually steps closer.

"Poor little legs. Soon you'll lose your arms, too. And then you'll fall right over on your side."

His face didn't match the sickly sweet tone, an unamused brow risen and a piercing glare as he walks cautious circles around Giorno so as not to get too close. His timbre was reminding of perhaps marshmallows or icing, both of which are sweet foods that easily get sickening not long after eating. Marshmallows, icing, fondant, sugar...

The latter, meanwhile, is trying his hardest to push himself off the ground, to no avail. Maybe it was because he couldn't feel his legs.

"What have you done to me?"

"I didn't do anything."

A quaint smile rests upon Rosario's lips in a mocking way.

"What. Do. You. Want," Giorno spits.

"You! I want you!" He chuckles with a little sigh afterwards, "Romantic, I know. I just needed a little more..." he taps his chin, looking off into the corner of his vision before grinning. "...Influence."

The other merely frowns.

"I commend you for getting this far... I really do. But as soon as I activated
Killing Me Softly, it was already over."

It wasn't a drug. It wasn't a medicine. It wasn't his own imagination;

A stand ability.

Giorno's vision begins to fade and his ears ring, and that's when he realizes that it was Rosario's stand.

Nerve damage? Nullification? He wasn't sure yet, but to him it didn't matter.

"You're being a bit cocky for someone who hasn't won yet..."

Rosario raises his brows at the comment.

"...And for scum that uses the innocent for their own gain."

"I don't see what point you're trying to get across," Rosario frowns, laughing nervously.

"You don't need to."

With those words that Giorno spoke, a flurry began.

"Gold Experience Requiem! Muda, muda, muda, muda, muda, muda muda muda muda muda... muda!"

The stand appeared, a representation of Giorno's soul and great strive to survive, and it pounded his enemy with countless punches. The mafioso's golden hair loosely tumbled and tostled behind his shoulders due to the sheer wind caused by his own attack.

"Scum like you..."

The gasoline of life courses through his veins as he pummeled Rosario to his untimely demise. Be it a requirement to survive or simply a responsibility he assumed upon himself in your honor, he took it with the utmost seriousness and passion until the numbing effect and vertigo wore off, and there was a newfound hope that maybe you'd be okay.

"...Doesn't deserve to exist in this world..!" Giorno finishes in a declaration, clenched fist held up against his chest where his heart lay.

☆☆☆

The jerk could have said anything for his last words.

He still chose to be a jerk.

"It'll still hap-p...pen... without me," Rosario chokes out,

Finally reaching point zero,

Ceasing to exist,

And the rush begins again.

You have three minutes.

☆☆☆

Next time:

È̵̛͖͈͕̝̜̝͔̭̽̋̅͗͗R̵̨̛̫̠̬̝̦̠̩̆̈́̑́͗̀͆͂̚Ȑ̵̛̛͕̿͊̈͊͛̚̚O̵̖̤̬̩̻̠̼͗͜͜R̷͚̦͇̞̃̈́͛̊͘͜.̴̢̧̲̱̲̖̯̻͇̑͆̌͒̈́̋́͝.̴̢̢͖̺̬̠̗̝̽̿́̏.̷̮̪̺͓̟͈͛̉̉͛̚ ̵̪̜̟̑͛Y̴͔̝͔̊͌̋̐̌̾̈́̓̕Ǫ̵͕̱͚̙̯͕̹͈̞̌̈́̀͛̆̾̒͗U̵̳͊́̋͊̎̈́͂͋̕͠ ̷͚̞͓͚̈̂͗̇̍́͠ͅH̴̩̽A̸̜̗̖͛̒̇͆̋̚̕ͅV̵̡̡̜̼̳̱̰̭̥͐̎͒̆̽̚͝Ę̶͉̠͓̜̆̓̓͆̅͂̑̄͝ ̸̺̪͕̜̹̯̈́T̵͓̺̱̞̓̑̒̐͌͂͌̒͆Ḥ̵̥̻̯̬̘̼̮̽̐͒̎̆̆̕͠͝R̵͕̦̤̅̋̄͊̎̾͆̾͗̕Ě̵̢͇͋̒̀͘̚Ḙ̸̠̲̩̏͒̋͊̈ ̵͍̻̘̲̬̯̤̎M̷̛̮͓̲̬̞̦̑͂͑͂́͛̂͝͠I̵͚̝̠̬͌̽̉̉̀̋̄̾Ń̷̢̼̦̥̝̟͂̉̓̑͆͆̔̉U̷̫̻͓͐͂T̷̻͓̤͇̈̏͐̓̅̀̑̌̿͝Ẹ̶̡̩̺̹͕̣͕̥̥̆̌͑͝Ṣ̸̢̢̣̞̗͔̹̞͙̎̑̍̾͒̈͛̈͒̐.̴̺̙͙̲̜̆͗̋̍̈̆̚.̸̨̖̦̻̥͍̠̮̺̉̈͐̚.̵͚͉̣̣̈́̊́͆̊́̚̕͜͝