May I request a Bucci gang (separate) x fem reader with a Shin (from Nana)-like personality? Mostly platonic dynamics, except for my bb Giorno where it could be a bit more romantic/soft 🤒💛
I hope this isn’t boring, I’m always a bit nervous when sending requests to people 😓 But I really love your writing 🫶
No don’t be nervous!! I’m super nice I swear and I love writing sm 🥹🫰 You guys are super patient and amazing and I’m grateful to be able to write for you guys 😋
ALSO I love writing found family with the Bruno Gang LIKE OMGGGG 🥹🥹🥹 I love all of them SO FREAKIGN MCYH!!!
Tags: Fem reader, SFW and fluff (mostly platonic except for Giorno)
- Bucciarati spots you running sketchy errands for low-level dealers and realizes you’re smart enough to read a room and bold (or reckless) enough to do it alone, which worries him more than it impresses him.
- He takes you in under the excuse of “needing someone small and quick for recon,” but it’s obvious to the rest of the gang he’s mostly trying to get you out of worse circles.
- You act indifferent to being recruited, shrugging and playing it cool like it’s no big deal, but Bucciarati notices how you keep showing up early to meetings and listening more than you talk.
- Bucciarati is stricter with you than with the others: no solo jobs, no wandering off, and definitely no lying about where you’re going, because he knows exactly how badly the world chews up kids.
- When you get hurt on a mission and brush it off with a sarcastic joke, he calmly patches you up and tells you, very quietly, that he doesn’t risk his life for people who treat their own lives like they’re disposable.
- He steps in fast when anyone talks down to you for being a teen - his voice stays gentle but icy as he reminds them that age doesn’t decide resolve or value on his team.
- You can tell when Bucciarati is hiding how tired or injured he is, and he can tell when you’re pretending you don’t care, so the two of you have this unspoken agreement: no calling each other out in front of the others, but you talk honestly in private.
- He respects how perceptive you are - how you can read people quickly the way Shin does - but he keeps warning you not to use that just to manipulate situations for fun or for money the way you used to.
- Sometimes he’ll ask your opinion on someone you’re tailing because you notice emotional undercurrents the others miss, and that makes you feel quietly, fiercely proud.
- You tease him with dry, borderline mean little jokes when he’s being too serious, and he just sighs in that long-suffering older brother way because he knows it’s how you show affection.
- You act like you’re fine with anything, drifting along with the group, but Bucciarati is the only one who points out when you’re obviously hurting and just retreating into “whatever, I don’t care.”
- You cling to small, quiet forms of security - sitting near him in the car, leaning against the wall closest to his seat, lingering in the kitchen when he’s making coffee - pretending it’s coincidence.
- When missions go bad or the team is shaken, Bucciarati finds you first; he doesn’t lecture, he just rests a hand on your shoulder until your breathing evens out, then tells you what you did well before anything you did wrong.
- You sometimes crash on the couch in the team’s hideout after late-night jobs, and he quietly drapes a blanket over you and tells whoever’s still awake to keep it down “because she’s still a kid, no matter how tough she pretends to be.”
- If you ever mention your old life or the people who hurt you, he doesn’t ask for details; he just promises that as long as you’re under his command, no one gets to treat you like you’re disposable again - and you believe him more than you believe anyone else.
- Mista likes you immediately because you’re blunt, sarcastic, and not scared of him or the gun - you just roll your eyes and ask if he ever shuts up.
- He decides on the spot that you’re “kid” or “brat” and never calls you by your actual name unless he’s either pissed off or genuinely worried.
- The Sex Pistols take to you fast, too - they swarm around you during downtime, and you pretend it annoys you but secretly love the attention and talk to them when you think no one’s listening.
- You and Mista get scolded together constantly - if Bucciarati is lecturing, odds are you two were either too loud, too reckless, or absolutely not following the plan to the letter.
- Mista thinks it’s hilarious that you’re tiny but terrifyingly sharp, so he hypes you up: “Don’t mess with her, she’s the most dangerous one here,” while you’re just slouched in a chair with dead eyes.
- You like to roast him for his fear of the number four, casually slipping “four” into conversations just to watch him freak out, then acting innocent when he yells at you.
- Mista can tell you’re used to pretending nothing bothers you, so when you brush off pain or fear with a lazy smirk, he doesn’t push immediately - he just hangs around you more than usual.
- If you do something self-destructive on a mission, he actually gets serious: pulling you aside later, voice quieter, saying, “You don’t get to throw yourself away like that. I’d be pissed if you died, you know.”
- He’s bad at deep emotional talks, so his comfort comes out as: snacks shoved into your hands, ridiculous jokes, and insisting you come with him to “go buy something stupid so you stop sulking.”
- The second an enemy (or even an ally) starts talking to you in a way he doesn’t like, Mista’s hand is already hovering near his gun and he’s smiling way too wide.
- He’ll walk on the outside of the sidewalk, keep a hand on your shoulder in crowded places, and lean in front of you during tense conversations, like he’s physically blocking the world.
- If you get hurt, he freaks out loudly first - panicking, yelling at everyone - then softens when he’s alone with you, carefully checking your injuries and grumbling about how you scared him.
- You have this habit of sitting on the back of chairs or on tables, and Mista always leans against the same surface, crowding your space on purpose until you shove him away with a half-hearted kick.
- You steal his hat or his gun belt sometimes just to mess with him - he chases you around, yelling, but if someone else tries to lay a hand on you, he’s suddenly all lethal focus.
- On quiet nights, you listen to music together - you pretend you’re not listening when he rambles about random stuff, but you store every detail away, and he knows because your responses hit a little too accurately.
- There are rare moments when the mask slips and you look genuinely tired or lonely; Mista notices instantly and drops the joking tone, asking, “Hey, you good?” in a way that makes it hard to lie.
- If you ever open up about your past or feeling like you’re just there to be useful, he snorts and says, “Nah, you’re stuck with us now. Even if you quit, I’d still come bother you.”
- You’d never admit it out loud, but when things get really bad, you find yourself drifting toward wherever Mista is, because his stupid laugh, terrible jokes, and noisy presence make you feel like maybe you’re allowed to stay.
- When you join the team, Abbacchio is openly against it - he thinks a teenager has no business being in Passione and says so in front of everyone.
- Your Shin-like indifference - hands in pockets, flat tone, bored eyes - irritates him at first, because it reminds him of people who stopped valuing their own lives.
- You casually throw his attitude back at him, not scared of his glare, and that earns you a tiny sliver of respect he never admits to.
- You don’t try to win him over; you just exist near him, quiet, observant, never prying into his business, and that’s exactly what makes him lower his guard a little.
- He notices how you’re always listening to the others, reading them like Shin does, then shrugging like it’s all just passing scenery, and he starts to realize you’re not clueless - you’re detached.
- The first time you get in real danger on a mission, he reacts faster than he means to, shielding you with zero hesitation, then acts annoyed when you thank him.
- He yells at you the most after missions, not because you did the worst, but because you took risks with your own life: “You’re not disposable. Stop acting like you are.”
- Instead of outright praise, he gives you gruff, backhanded compliments: “At least you’re not completely useless,” “You handled that better than the others,” said in a bored tone that doesn’t match how closely he was watching.
- When you make a dark joke about your own life, he goes quiet in a way that’s heavier than usual, then changes the subject and later brings you an extra drink or snack without comment.
- You end up spending a lot of time sitting near him in silence - on train rides, at hideouts, on rooftops - both of you staring off into space, saying nothing, but not moving away either.
- He lets you sit with him when he’s on watch, and while he pretends he just “didn’t notice you were there,” he subtly shifts so you’re more in his line of sight, just in case.
- Sometimes you’ll make a dry, too-honest comment about the world, and he’ll answer with something equally bleak but oddly comforting, like he’s telling you, “Yeah, it sucks, but I’m still here. So are you.”
- He sees the way you float along like nothing matters, taking jobs, taking hits, laughing things off, and it hits a little too close to old versions of himself.
- When you act like you don’t care whether you live or die, Abbacchio gets visibly angry - not loud, but sharp, telling you that if you’re on this team, your life is now tied to everyone else’s.
- He never asks directly about your past, but if someone else presses you, he’ll shut them down with a single look and a low “Drop it,” like he’s protecting a wound he knows is there.
- He’ll wordlessly push a drink toward you when you look worn out, muttering something like, “You look like hell,” instead of “Are you okay?”
- If you fall asleep in some uncomfortable spot after a mission, he doesn’t move you, but he’ll toss his coat over you or shift something under your head so you don’t wake up aching.
- He notices you imitate some of his habits - leaning back, arms crossed, dry comments - and though he calls you “annoying” for it, there’s a faint, reluctant fondness in his eyes.
- The first time someone insults you or calls you a liability because of your age, Abbacchio steps in fast, voice low and dangerous, making it absolutely clear that you are part of the team.
- You never get a big, emotional speech from him, but you get something else: his stand backing you up, his presence at your side when things go wrong, his quiet “Good work” when no one else is around.
- Over time, you realize that for someone like Abbacchio, letting you into his quiet, bitter orbit is the closest thing you’ll ever get to being told, “You matter to me,” and for you, that’s more than enough.
- When you join the gang, Narancia is low‑key intimidated because you’re younger but way calmer than him, just leaning back with that bored, unreadable stare.
- He keeps trying to get a reaction out of you - waving Aerosmith around, asking loud questions, poking at you - while you respond with flat one‑liners that somehow make him laugh even harder.
- You don’t treat him like he’s stupid - you just talk to him normally, which makes him cling to you faster than anyone expects.
- He starts sitting next to you constantly: in the car, on couches, on steps - if you’re there, he’s there, talking about music, food, stupid stories, anything to fill the silence you never seem bothered by.
- Even when you answer with short, dry comments, he can tell you’re listening, and that makes him feel weirdly safe around you, like you’re a wall he can bounce off without being judged.
- He’s the first one to loudly introduce you as “my friend” or “our kid,” even though you shrug and look away, pretending it doesn’t mean anything.
- You two are a disaster duo: he’s loud, you’re quiet, but you egg each other on; he’ll go, “Let’s do it!” and you’ll just nod with that tiny, dangerous smirk.
- You tease him all the time - calling him out when he gets confused, pointing out obvious things he misses - but you never sound cruel, just blunt and matter‑of‑fact.
- If someone else makes fun of him in a way you don’t like, your tone goes icy fast, and you cut them down with one sharp line - Narancia doesn’t always get what you said, but he knows you’re on his side.
- Narancia notices that you treat your own safety like an afterthought, stepping into risky situations with a bored shrug, and it freaks him out even if he can’t put it into words.
- When you laugh off getting hurt or make a casual joke about dying, he snaps in his own way - loud, offended, like, “Don’t say stuff like that! You’re not allowed to die, okay? That’d piss me off!”
- He doesn’t know how to handle deep emotional talks, so he clings tighter instead: dragging you into games, forcing you to eat, insisting you sit with him so you can “be sad together or whatever.”
- Narancia may be only slightly older (or feel like it), but he gets fiercely protective: walking in front of you, standing between you and strangers, glaring at anyone who stares too long.
- If there’s gunfire or danger, he instinctively positions Aerosmith to cover your blind spots, even when Bucciarati didn’t tell him to, because his brain just screams, “Protect her.”
- When you come back bruised and say, “It’s nothing,” he fusses loudly, demanding you show him, then goes quiet and gentle while checking your injuries, lips pressed tight.
- Sometimes he finds you zoning out alone, that distant Shin look in your eyes, and instead of asking what’s wrong, he just sits down next to you and starts rambling about something dumb until you come back to yourself.
- You don’t usually initiate contact, but you’ll tug his sleeve or lean against his shoulder when you’re really exhausted; he instantly shuts up, softens, and lets you stay there as long as you want.
- He loves when you listen to his music with him - even if you just nod along, he gets excited and keeps glancing at your face to see if you’re enjoying it.
- You fix his bandana or straighten his clothes without saying anything, just a quick, casual touch, and it makes him blush and grin like an idiot.
- He brings you snacks he thinks you’ll like, dropping them in your lap with a loud, “Here!” while you act unimpressed but never refuse them.
- When you’re clearly overwhelmed, you mutter a simple, “Stay,” and he does - no questions, no jokes - just sitting next to you, fidgeting with his knife or humming under his breath so you don’t feel alone.
- You might act detached, like you can take or leave this life and these people, but Narancia has already decided you’re family, so you’re not allowed to disappear on him.
- He tells you, in his clumsy, honest way, “If you ever run away or something, I’ll just come find you,” and somehow, that makes your chest ache more than any serious speech would.
- You never say it outright, but the way you always end up drifting toward his side in a fight, or quietly covering his back when he’s distracted, is your way of saying the same thing: you’re stuck with him, and that’s okay.
- When you join, Fugo is immediately against it: you’re a teenager, you’re detached, and you clearly don’t value your own safety the way he thinks you should.
- Your flat, bored answers to questions (“Yeah, whatever,” “If I die, I die”) make his eye twitch, because they remind him of people who gave up on themselves.
- You don’t flinch at his temper or insults; you just blink, maybe throw in a dry jab back, which disarms him more than if you’d cried or yelled.
- Fugo ends up helping you with schoolwork or basic knowledge stuff - explaining things patiently at first, then getting flustered when you tease him for being a walking textbook.
- You half‑jokingly call him “sensei” when he gets into lecture mode, and even though he groans, he still answers your questions in ridiculous detail.
- If you shrug off studying or talk about not needing a future, he snaps, slamming books shut and demanding to know why you’re so ready to throw away chances he never had.
- He notices fast that you treat your life like it’s cheap: volunteering for dangerous tasks, stepping into fights with a careless shrug, laughing off close calls.
- The first time you nearly get seriously hurt, he loses it - shouting, grabbing your shoulders, demanding if you understand what would happen to the team if you died.
- Under the anger is raw fear - his voice cracks, and for a second you see how much it actually terrifies him that you don’t care what happens to you.
- You and Fugo argue a lot: you’re apathetic and blunt, he’s intense and angry, and the clash is loud, but it’s never about hating each other - it’s about him refusing to watch you self-destruct.
- Sometimes you hit a nerve with a quiet, too‑honest line like, “Why does my life matter so much to you?” and he goes silent, realizing he doesn’t have an easy answer.
- After fights, he cools off alone, then comes back with a calmer tone and an awkward apology, plus food or notes he made for you “since you clearly weren’t paying attention earlier.”
- In missions, Fugo always tracks where you are - even when he’s focused on enemies, part of his brain is counting your breaths, your distance, your possible routes.
- He positions himself between you and direct danger whenever possible - not just because of Purple Haze, but because the thought of you getting infected or injured makes him feel sick.
- If someone underestimates you, he snaps at them on your behalf, listing your skills in detail before realizing he just exposed how carefully he observes you.
- You sometimes find him reading and just drop down nearby, not talking, staring at the ceiling; at first he’s annoyed, then gradually he gets used to your presence as background comfort.
- When you make an offhand, self-deprecating comment about your worth, he doesn’t always argue - sometimes he just says your name sharply and meets your eyes, letting the silence speak for him.
- On nights when you look particularly hollow, he’ll awkwardly ask if you want to go over something together - maps, data, anything - to give you a reason to stay anchored.
- He’ll flick your forehead when you say something fatalistic, muttering, “Idiot,” but his hand lingers just long enough to feel like a grounding touch rather than punishment.
- You bring him coffee or snacks when he’s buried in papers, claiming it’s just because you were bored, and he pretends not to care - but never forgets to say “thanks,” quietly.
- When you fall asleep sitting up, he carefully adjusts your posture or puts a folded jacket behind your head, grimacing like he’s annoyed, but checking twice to make sure you won’t wake up sore.
- You start, slowly, to take fewer pointless risks - not because you suddenly value yourself, but because you can’t ignore how panicked Fugo looks when you come back bleeding.
- He never gives you a dramatic speech, but he does say things like, “You’re part of the equation now. If you’re gone, everything falls apart,” in this tight, sincere voice.
- For someone like you - drifting, detached, convinced you’re replaceable - realizing that Fugo has factored you into his carefully controlled world is the closest thing you get to hearing, “Please stay.”
- When you join, you’re calm and distant in a way that doesn’t fit your age, and it throws Trish off because she expects clinginess or fear, not that bored, unreadable stare.
- You don’t fangirl over her looks or status - you just treat her like a normal person, which makes her lower her guard around you faster than she means to.
- Your dry, almost careless responses - “If it goes bad, it goes bad” - bother her, but also make her curious, because she recognizes that kind of emotional armor.
- At first, you two sit near each other out of circumstance: same age, same general proximity, but not really talking much beyond short comments and eye-rolls at the boys’ antics.
- Slowly, your shared side-eyes and muttered, cutting remarks at the guys’ stupidity turn into a private language; a raised eyebrow from you is enough to make Trish snort.
- She starts choosing to stand next to you during tense moments, like you’re a quiet anchor she can lean on without having to explain anything.
- Trish notices right away how you talk about yourself like you’re optional - volunteering for risky stuff, shrugging when the conversation touches on danger or death.
- She calls you out on it, bluntly: “You’re not some disposable extra. Stop talking like you are,” her tone sharp in that way that says she’s more worried than angry.
- When you make a self-deprecating joke, she doesn’t laugh - she looks annoyed and changes the subject, then later circles back with, “You know you’re not worthless, right?” said as if it’s an objective fact.
- Trish pulls you into small “normal girl” moments - sharing makeup, picking outfits, doing nails - not because she’s shallow, but because she wants you to remember you’re still a teenager.
- You pretend you don’t care when she insists on touching up your eyeliner or adjusting your clothes, but you never pull away, and she notices the way your shoulders relax.
- When the guys are loud or irritating, you and Trish retreat to a corner together, listening to music, exchanging quiet commentary, existing in a little bubble of fragile normalcy.
- Trish doesn’t fight like the others, but she will absolutely snap at anyone who speaks down to you, her voice sharp and cold enough to silence a room.
- If you get hurt, she’s the one hovering, hands steady but eyes tight, insisting your wounds be treated properly and refusing to accept “It’s fine” as an answer.
- She has this habit of gently tugging you behind her or stepping closer when someone sketchy is around, like she can shield you with sheer presence and attitude.
- You’re good at reading people, so you catch the flickers of fear and insecurity in Trish and never use them against her; instead, you offer low-key reassurance at random moments.
- She, in turn, is one of the few people who asks you direct questions about how you feel, then actually waits for an answer instead of accepting your usual “It doesn’t matter.”
- On rare late nights, the two of you end up sharing pieces of your past in halting, half-finished sentences - never the full story, but enough to know you’re not alone in the damage.
- You automatically stand so that Trish is less exposed in crowds, positioning yourself like a quiet bodyguard even though you act like you’re just drifting.
- She’ll casually link your arms when walking or sitting, pretending it’s just convenience, but you both know it’s her way of keeping track of you, and your way of accepting the comfort.
- You start taking fewer reckless risks when she’s around - not because you suddenly value yourself, but because you can’t stand the thought of that wounded, furious look on her face if you don’t come back.
- Trish never gives you a dramatic speech, but she says things like, “We’re in this together. I’m not letting you disappear on me,” in a tone that brooks no argument.
- You don’t tell her “thank you” very often, but you show up - sitting by her side when she’s shaken, sharing your headphones, wordlessly handing her a drink when her hands tremble.
- In a world where you were ready to drift through life like a ghost, Trish becomes the person who stubbornly, fiercely insists you exist - and for the first time in a long time, you let that matter.
- You don’t fawn over him or look to him for reassurance - you treat him like any other capo, answering with flat, calm “Sure,” “If that’s what you want,” and he notices your lack of fear more than any praise.
- Your vibe - too mature for your age, a little numb, always watching from the edges - makes him pay closer attention to you during missions and meetings.
- He realizes you’re incredibly perceptive, reading people and situations quickly, but you never use that for your own protection, only to help others or the job, which unsettles him.
- Giorno is good at maintaining composure, but you’re one of the few who can see that subtle tightening around his eyes when you volunteer for the most dangerous tasks.
- At first, he tells himself he’s just being a responsible leader when he pulls you back, reassigns you, or quietly adjusts the plan to reduce your risk.
- Over time, he catches himself thinking about you even when you’re not around - wondering if you’re eating, if you’re sleeping, if you’re actually okay behind that apathetic front - and that’s when he realizes it’s not just concern anymore.
- When you joke about your own death or act like you’re replaceable, Giorno’s reaction is calm on the surface but firm: he tells you directly that your life is not a resource he intends to waste.
- He never raises his voice, but there’s a quiet intensity when he says things like, “You are important to this organization. And to me,” leaving no room for argument.
- If you come back injured and shrug it off, he heals you with Gold Experience, his touch gentle, eyes silently searching your face as if to confirm you’re still really there.
- Giorno isn’t showy, so his affection comes through small, deliberate acts: placing a flower on your desk that blooms into your favorite color, adjusting your coat before a mission, handing you medicine without comment.
- He remembers throwaway things you mention - songs you like, places you’d rather see, foods you don’t hate - and they start quietly appearing in your orbit.
- When the others are around, he treats you like any other subordinate; when you’re alone, his gaze softens, his tone warmer, and he lingers a little too long when passing you something.
- You’re not great at talking about feelings, so he meets you where you are: sitting beside you in comfortable silence, letting you speak only if you want to.
- Sometimes he’ll ask gently pointed questions - “Why do you say your life doesn’t matter?” “Who made you believe that?” - but he never pushes when you shut down.
- On rare nights, you let slip small fragments of your past, and he listens without judgment, responding with calm, steady words that make it harder to dismiss your own worth.
- He integrates you into his plans for the future, talking about the organization’s reforms and then adding, almost casually, “You’ll have a place in that world too.”
- When you take an unnecessary risk, he doesn’t just scold you as your boss - he looks genuinely shaken, telling you in a low voice that he cannot accept losing you.
- If anyone treats you like you’re disposable, Giorno’s smile turns cold, and they quickly learn that underestimating you - or disrespecting you - has consequences.
- At first, you assume his protectiveness is just leadership, but it gets harder to ignore the way he looks at you, like he’s memorizing every expression you don’t mean to show.
- You find yourself drifting toward him when you’re exhausted or numb, because his calm presence makes the world feel a little less pointless.
- You start taking fewer reckless risks - not because your view of yourself has completely changed, but because you can’t stand the thought of being the reason his eyes look that haunted again.
- Giorno never demands a confession, and you’re not the type for big declarations, so the “relationship” begins as a series of unspoken agreements: hands brushing, staying by each other’s side, shared looks in dangerous moments.
- Eventually, he tells you, in his steady, matter-of-fact way, “I want you to live long enough to see the world we’re creating. I want you there with me,” and it lands heavier than any flowery speech could.
- For someone like you, who once floated through life like it didn’t matter whether you stayed or disappeared, loving Giorno - and being loved in his quiet, unwavering way - feels like finally being tied to something real.
