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It was only a meeting with a long-term affiliate, simple shit. At least is would have been had that prick not teamed up with a rival gang. It was just the two of them, as to show the trust they’d built, so it was fairly easy for them to be outnumbered. Being outnumbered, however, is not the biggest problem when you’re two insanely powerful standusers against mostly average joes.
It was now the two of them versus the traitor’s second in command, the only functional stand user in this guy’s arsonal. They were now being tossed like rag dolls around the mansion, being attracted to whatever this asshole wanted.
The party had moved to the courtyard. Mista had been against a large concrete pillar, shooting whenever he sees his illusive stand. Giorno was currently being pulled toward lawn furniture and decorations scattered around the courtyard. If probably would’ve been funny seeing a lawn gnome stuck to Giorno’s ass if his life weren’t actually being threatened right now. Mista would have to laugh about that later.
The gunman could feel his body being pulled again, this time straight to Giorno. He was too busy turning the random outdoor items weighing him down into ladybugs and other insects that he didn’t notice his new trajectory.
“Pistols! Soften the collision. Don’t let Giorno get hurt!”
The Pistols shrieked out different confirmations all standing at attention to grab Giorno enough to slow him down.
The commotion is able to catch Giorno’s attention with just enough time to brace himself. Mista and him are soon pressed together with bruising force, the pistols only helping so much, before dropping to the ground with a thud.
They lay there, sweaty bodies pressed together and sight very limited, as they collect themselves.
“Hey there, beautiful. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Not now.” He breaks the stoic panic with a chuckle. “How are you feeling, Mista? Do you have any bullets left?” There Giorno goes again. His gentle smile is contradicted by the determination radiating out of his eyes. It’s a real gift to see Giorno at work, just to get a chance to see him kick someone’s ass. Too bad it was his sweet ass being handed to him right now. Mista would need to fix that.
The Gunman tries to answer, but coughs. Apparently, Mista would have to fix that once his ass is no longer being whooped. He soon stops and smiles shyly, “I was gonna say I’m fine, but I doubt you’d believe me now.”
Giorno smiles, swallowing a chuckle, as Mista reaches down to the former-gnome-turned-ladybug that’s magnetically pinned to his partner. “What the hell kinda ladybug is this, I’ve never seen this kinda pattern before.” The blonde looks back with some confusion glancing down as Mista rubs his thumb over the strange pattern. The symbol smudges from the rub, and they watch as the ladybug is released from the hold and begins crawling off of Giorno and away from the battle.
Mista’s eyes widen as he looks to Giorno for confirmation, only to see him yanked back against another pillar in the courtyard. The ghost of the stand flashes in front of the gunman as he stands to aim again .
He turns, looking for him, only to feel a pull on his shoulder, telling him something is coming at him. The distance allows him to keep his feet planted for at least a little while longer while he looks for the enemy. He sees movement from further in the house and moves to see what it is, only for his feet to be swept out from under him and his shoulder to take control, dragging him into the living room, towards said movement.
Oh, Fuck.
“Mista!” He hears Giorno shout for him as he stares at the fridge barreling towards him. A Motherfucking Refrigerator! He was gonna kill this asshole if it was the last thing he would do.
Quick thinking had gotten him this far, well that and a lot of luck, so he could get out of this one. He was not about to be killed by a refrigerator.
He glanced around for the stand user hoping to find him somewhere in sight. With no target and no way to stop the fridge, Mista was out of ideas. He looked back to it just in time to see the chair that Giorno had been sitting in turning into a whole ass bear and standing in the way of the tumbling fridge.
The bear threw its whole body into it, and all hope left Mista’s eyes as the bear was mowed down. He never expected the incredible view of bear guts covering a living room while the official ‘Scariest Appliance of All Time’ continued on, only slightly deterred by the large mass of mammal it just demolished.
“Well - shit.” Mista sighed, “Thanks for the preview, Gio!”
He really thought that was gonna work. He could hear Giorno still calling out to him: ordering him not to die. He wasn’t planning on it, but he had to focus on finding his own way out of this frankly chilling situation.
He never thought a fridge could look menacing, but moving as fast as a car, covered in blood resulted in exactly that. Mista was about to be killed by a refrigerator.
Out of his periphery, Mista notices something on his shoulder. It’s the same symbol he’d wiped off the ladybug. Talk about lucky.
Mista stared ahead to the fridge seeing what may be a mark on it as well. He began scrubbing his shoulder watch the mark lighten until is was practically gone, and he felt the pull release. He was able to finally breathe a sigh of relief.
Wait. He was still moving, and so was that damn fridge. There previous momentum was still bringing them closer at a threatening, albeit slower, speed. He shot the fridge knowing that it wouldn’t do anything, but he just needed to feel like he was trying anything to stop the fridge that was now only 10 meters away. He was still about to be killed by a fucking refrigerator!
Then in a moment of sheer brilliance, or rather opening his goddamn eyes to view his surroundings, he reaches back to grab the side of a door frame. His body swings around it, finally stopping, and being smacked into a wall. He lays on the ground gasping for breath, brought back by the slam of the fridge into some part of the house.
He gets up, brushing off whatever was definitely injured in his brief intimacy with that wall, checking every inch of skin he could currently see for any more of those marks. The only one he currently saw was on his right hand, probably when he shook hands with the bastard when they first got here. He started running back to where he could see Giorno wiping the Mark off of his palm.
He comes back around to see his Giorno against the same pillar from before, relief painted on his face. He was so gonna get one of those moments at the end of an action movie where the hero gets to make out with the love interest he just saved, covered in dirt and blood, desperate and relieved, and it was gonna be fucking sweet.
“Giogio, I think I got rid of all of those mar--” A swift punch smacks his cheeks pushing his face down, left cheek stinging. As he brings his head back up, the relief on the blonde’s face has disappeared, and he face is now being brought down quickly to the concrete, dragging the rest of his body with it. He was gonna have to wait on that movie moment.
He can finally see the bastard, he’s stopped hiding, but Mista is not sure if he should be all that excited about it. Especially since he now has a brand new mark that he can’t seem to remove due to it being currently adhered to the ground.
His eyes flick back to Giorno, looking much more uncomfortable than he did prior. Mista only gets what’s going on when Giorno turns the pillar into a mass of flowers, now delicately floating to the ground, and he is yanked towards the wall on the other side of the lawn through where the pillar had been.
Giorno lands hard against the massive stone fencing, forcing him to catch his breath. This was not how this night was supposed to go, Giorno panting, pinned against a wall. Don’t get Mista wrong, he wanted that to happen, but it was supposed to be him doing that, not some random asshole’s stand.
Mista shakily angles his gun -unable to bring his hand more than a few millimeters off the ground due to the force- at the man standing in front of him. It would be so much easier to hit him if the pistols weren’t also being held against the ground.
The gunman moves to pull the trigger, but his caught off guard be the feeling of being released from his hold on the ground. He is able to angle his gun much easier now, but can’t seem to steady to get a clear shot.
Thud. It is then that he realizes what was wrong. He was now staring at the symbol on the concrete below that was once attached to his face, but was now pressing him into the concrete awning above. He had been repelled. How many abilities does this jackass have?
His arm now pinned to the ceiling allows for almost no movement; he wasn’t able to aim at the user that was now moving towards his Don.
Mista was unable to see him after a moment, the ceiling he was glued to blocking his vision. The conversation that began was hard to make out, but he knew is was probably something to do with surrendering or some bullshit like that.
He started moving his non-gun-wielding hand as quickly as he could (which frankly was not even remotely quick) up to his face. If he could just get this damn mark off then he could finally kill this bastard. The gunman was desperately trying to lift his hand enough to reach his cheek when he felt his body give way, smacking him into the same spot he had been moments before.
Dazed and aching, he looked up to see the stand user standing over Giorno monologuing while glancing over to Mista’s near limp body. A subtle fear was cracking the cold facade the Don was sporting. The change was almost nonexistent; Giorno probably didn’t even notice it. But for Mista, the man who could now draw every dainty pore of that man’s face from memory, (albeit shittily, but he could still do it) he could tell.
He looked up at his boss seemingly unbreaking and calm, and grinned. He probably looked so stupid. He could taste the blood that was probably coating his teeth, and he could feel bruise forming on his face. But, he was okay, and Giorno needed to know.
The gunman saw the fear soften into something harder, and he said something to the man, never breaking eye contact with his partner.
Anger played across the man’s face, leaning threateningly close to Giorno. Mista once again aimed at the stand user praying his luck may strike again. But his timing, once again, was fucked as the feeling of flying met his body one more time. He hit the roof and began reaching for his face, again.
Only a moment later, he felt his body give out and was slammed back into the concrete floor. Damn. This was getting rough. Most indistinct conversation continued and he pointed his gun once again. He got off a shot this time, but without the help of his stand it landed a few inches in front of the users face. Shoulda known. It was that damned fourth bullet.
His head swung towards Mista, and he flung towards the ceiling.
Now he’s minorly frustrated. He could only hope this guy would feel safe long enough for Mista to get this damn mark off of his face. Now pressed up against the awning for the third time in the last minute and a half, his hand finally reached his face. It would only take a few seconds to wipe off, but his arm kept on being pulled back down. With the force of the repulsion, his fingers were pressed into his cheek. He could feel the bruise and to be honest, it did not feel great, but at least he could decipher where the symbol was based on that.
He started to rub and rub and rub, praying that this guy wouldn’t yank him back down and end up breaking his hand. His body soon started falling. Mista kept on rubbing, refusing to let this guy throw him around anymore.
As his body thumped against the ground, radiating pain from the repeated 5 meters he was up down from. He soon realized his face was off the ground as he started shaking out the stars in his vision. He glanced up to see the man’s face in sheer panic, and Giorno’s played into a smirk.
He laid there regaining as much strength as he could, watching Giorno the whole time. Through the pain, Mista was able to see him still pressed against the wall as the user panicked, trying to hold Giorno (more hostage?) to protect himself.
The Don cared little for what the user was doing, holding his breath, making sure his gunman was alright. If he weren’t in an insurmountable amount of pain, he would say something about how hot he looks breathless, but, as with the gnome, now was not the time.
He watched as Giorno turned the pole standing behind him into a snake, and he watched as the snake bit the Stand user causing him to stumble backwards. Mista fumbled with his revolver, called out his stand, and shot the man.
He dropped dead. Thankfully.
Mista began hobbling to Giorno as he slumped from the relaxation of the force. The Don slowly returned to his feet, far less hurt than his subordinate, and caught the slightly taller man as he stumbled forward.
Mista looked down at the Don he was now leaning on. His blond hair was now messy and lightly stained from the blood oozing from the gunman’s face. Yet somehow, this fucker can still pull it off. He has a silent victory for himself, getting closer to that hollywood ending.
The last thing before that just happened to be cowering behind the couch in the living room. Giorno had healed Mista enough that he could move on his own, stepping over the bear to grab the traitor and bring him before the Don.
Long story, short: The message was sent, and the fucker is dead.
They stepped out of the mansion, leaving it in shambles behind them. Not a soul in there; a job well done.
It felt epic. A scene from a blockbuster, except it really fucking hurt, but that wasn’t gonna stop Mista from grabbing Giorno around the waste and pulling him close. He held him like that for a second, breathing him in and staring at how perfect he truly was.
Before he had a chance to question the point of it, Mista pressed his lips to the others. He held him close and brought one hand up to the already loose braid to deepen the kiss. Giorno brought his arms up around Mista’s neck and arched his back, allowing the gunman full control. He smirked into the shorter’s lips and moved his lips to Giorno’s ear, kissing lightly behind it.
“I just wanted to remind you,” Mista whispered in the most sultry voice he could muster with his warped, recently healed throat, “that- that you had a gnome stuck to your ass.”
Mista broke down into uncontrollable laughter on his shoulder until Giorno shoved him back laughing as well.
“At least I wasn’t almost killed by an appliance,” he fought back maintaining some composure.
The gunman wrapped his arms around the Don slowly moving them towards the car. He was not gonna stay there a moment longer than he had to. “Fair. But that bear was fucking crazy, oh my god.”
“Not my best work, but I didn’t have much else to work with.”
“Trust me, I never thought anything could kill a bear, like at all, except maybe Leonardo Dicaprio, but other than that, nothing. I can’t believe a fridge did the job.”
“Come on. Take me home. I was not planning on fighting for my life, today. I need coffee and to get these shoes off as soon as possible.” He leaned his head onto the bloodsoaked shoulder of his third’s sweater taking in this moment. He smiled and kissed his cheek before climbing into the passenger seat of their car and heading back home.