See I don’t just limit myself to Angsty Scenarios: Giorno Giovanna x Hanahaki!Reader
It’s been in the family for generations.
In your great great grandfather’s time, they claimed it was typhus. He had never quite recovered and the cough stayed in his lungs and killed him after your great grandmother was born. So on and so forth.
You were little, but you vividly remember watching your mother die of what the doctor said was lung cancer, the whisper of some other man’s name on her lips when she fought it off long enough to draw a shaky last breath. She died the same way her father had gone, and his mother before him. The sound rattled her lungs and everyone else present in the room. It was horrific, a shuddering sigh that sounded as if she died with many regrets in her broken heart.
You knew it was something else. A parasite, something only you and your mother could see that had been the catalyst in this long list of fatalities. It was a curse it seemed.
Flowers would root in your bronchioles and the petals would be regurgitated. Some nights it was easier to live, other times you wished it would just kill you. The ironic thing being that nobody believed you, nor did it seem they could see the bile covered flowers when you’d hold them out in your hands.
Your mother had vomited sowbread before she died. When you were first ensconced in the meaning of the flowers, you realized it had meant resignation, a final goodbye to this earth and the miserable life she had lived on it. She cried another’s name constantly. Someone she knew from her youth abroad. Kujo never came to get her, not even when she became a young mother with your father and spent all her evenings writing letters to someone with outlandish claims that only got sent back to her address with frightening persistence.
The fragile bloodline you were born into produced little to no survivors once this parasite took root, save for the broken widows who remained convinced their spouses were emotional infidels, and the unfortunate children who were products of unions not fully formed out of love.
Your father abandoned you with an elderly caretaker. It should have been anyone’s dream come true. Escaping a den of abuse and being sent away to live with a kindly old woman who made you extravagant meals, all coupled with the fact that you had been abandoned in Naples.
That did nothing to fill the void in your heart.
Your whole life you spent your time looking for someone, searching the crowds of faces morning noon and night yet never finding who it was you were looking for.
You were going to give up.
The parasite was consuming you. Whatever it was seemed keen on ending your bloodline if it could not have what it wanted. How could you pacify it? Even you weren’t sure of who or what it was looking for that made it feel as though there was a gaping hole in your heart.
Sometimes you’d wake up screaming in the night. So many different names on your lips, names like Joseph or Jonathan or George, once it was a Jotaro and you weren’t sure where you’d even heard a name like that before. Much less the name Josuke that made you feel as though you were shouting in tandem with another person.
But one morning your caretaker had bid you “buongiorno” and something just snapped inside you. The lightbulb went on inside your mind, and you could literally feel yourself losing control just like your mother used to talk about.
It marked your obsession.
You spent so much time wandering the streets, you couldn’t keep up with school. Your caretaker begged and pleaded with you to try and go back, but she lessened her scolding when she realized your coughing was acting up more than usual.
You began vomiting pink camellias, the flower of longing, instead of the usual forsaken anemone. With each petal cluster dangerously threatening to become a whole flower, you began getting desperate. You’d stop people in the street and scream in their faces, demanding their name. You had to find him.
You had to find him because you could feel deep inside your soul that this parasite would end things with you if it didn’t get what it wanted now. This was your last chance. You didn’t believe in reincarnation or anything like that but what else could describe the desperation? You knew you would cease to exist and there would be no hope for a future of trying again, and this scared you because despite everything that had happened, you wanted to keep on living.
You felt the pain of those who died before you. The unrequited feelings they held began with a certain bloodline and became so entangled that with every failure, the resolve to try again was growing weaker. But whoever he was, Giorno was the key. You knew in your heart he was the strongest connection to the origins of the bond and would therefore be able to heal what had been hurt so long ago. Whoever Giorno was surely he could fix this parasitic curse and bring your suffering to an end.
It was an accident that you met him. Your caretaker was worried. She asked if you would meet with this nice young man who wanted to talk to you about your coughing (what she certainly suspected was related to a drug binge).
The young man with the black hair and white suit had brought a friend. A blonde.
When you saw him, the camellias were in full bloom. It seemed they just fell out of your open mouth now whenever you breathed. Yet it no longer embarrassed you when flowers and drool would dribble from your mouth every time you opened up to say hello. You were already too sick to care.
But when you saw him... you felt that connection.
A spark, hopeful, because you knew from the expression on his face that he and his friend could see it too.
There were piles of camellias surrounding you. All of them ranging from hideously covered in gore or looking as though you’d clipped them directly from the shrubbery.
Your heart skipped a beat when you realized he was wiping something from his mouth.
A singular salmon colored petal, his breath perfumed with ambrosia when you approached him.
The love was reciprocated.
When he reached for you, to touch your hands, you felt as though the hole in your heart was spilling over.
“... Are you Giorno?” You asked. Voice raw from coughing.
It was music to your ears, when you heard him murmur “Yes.”
And the entirety of your bloodline found peace.
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