Human, alien, etcetera?? Dont mind if i do. May i request Bucciarati x centaur reader? Like i want it to be a sort of like reader is not all that used to the human world and sort of being a fish out of water. I hope this is not too stupid of an ask!
Bruno had a habit of organizing his pens by ink density and nib width, a meticulousness that extended to the way he pressed his trousers or how he folded his handkerchiefs. He was a man of precise margins and clean lines, moving through the world with a quiet, rhythmic grace that made him seem like he was perpetually walking to a piece of music only he could hear.
Most of the gang simply saw him as the dependable lead, the one who kept the chaos of the gang from spilling over into the street, but there was a softness to him that he only let show when he thought no one was looking.
You, on the other hand, were currently struggling with the concept of a revolving door. You stood frozen in the glass cylinder of the lobby, your four hooves clicking rhythmically against the polished marble, unsure of whether you were supposed to push the glass or wait for it to carry you out like a lazy river.
The transition from the sprawling, open meadows of your home to the claustrophobic geometry of the city had been a jarring one. Everything here felt designed for creatures with two legs and a desire to be squeezed into tight boxes.
"Just a little more momentum on the hind legs," Bruno said, his voice warm as he stepped up beside you. He didn't laugh or make a scene out of your hesitation; he simply placed a steadying hand on your flank, guiding you with a gentle nudge.
The momentum carried you through the exit and onto the sidewalk, where the sudden roar of traffic hit you like a physical wall. You stumbled slightly, your coat fluttering around your waist, a garment you wore primarily to hide the blurring line where your human torso merged into your equine half. Which… you'd have to admit doesn’t really work.
"Easy does it," Bruno murmured, his hand remaining on your flank for a moment longer to ensure you had your footing. He stepped slightly ahead of you, instinctively positioning himself between your flank and the rushing current of pedestrians who seemed startled by your presence.
He didn't treat you like a fragile curiosity or a clumsy obstacle, but rather like a partner in a slow-motion dance. Bruno’s pace shifted, his stride lengthening to match the natural gait of your four legs, creating a pocket of stillness amidst the urban frenzy. You felt the vibration of the city through your hooves— the deep, metallic hum of the subway lines running beneath the asphalt and the frantic energy of people who lived their lives in seconds and minutes.
To you, the city felt like a puzzle where the pieces were slightly the wrong size, and the architecture was a series of deliberate traps designed to confuse anything that didn't walk on two feet.
You shifted your weight, your flank brushing against the sleeve of his suit. The contact was grounding, a tether to the present moment that stopped you from bolting back toward the open air of the park. You looked down at your hooves, then back at the sea of polished leather shoes surrounding you.
The contrast was weird; you were a creature of earth and wind, now navigating a world of concrete and glass. You wondered if you would ever stop feeling like a glitch in the city's programming, a smudge of organic wildness on a meticulously planned map.
"The noise is the hardest part at first," Bruno said, glancing back at you with a soft, knowing smile. He didn't ask if you were overwhelmed; he simply acknowledged the sensory assault. He reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of your coat, subtly adjusting the drape to ensure you weren't catching on any passing luggage or stray umbrellas. "But you'll find the rhythm. Just follow the sound of my voice, yeah?"
Yeah, you could do that.
