#my italian is rusty give me a break if the grammar is a bit off

[princelylove]

The Father.

Synopsis: A character study on Bruno Bucciarati. 

Warning: pet names used in italian are masculine, general yandere behavior, nsfw implication at the end but no real nsfw, referenced violence

Bruno is not really naturally the fatherly type, but he chooses the responsibility anyway. He hides that he smokes, doesn’t eat until everyone else has, and very rarely slacks off. Although he’s serious about work and his family, he tends to be playful and lighthearted. It’s rare to see Bruno in a bad mood. He’s a family man. Loves the holidays, always hosts. Wants to be called papa or dad- Bruno’s secretly hoping that one day someone will slip and call him ‘Daddy,’ how delusional. He took the responsibility from his own father for his health and safety when he was little and didn’t really blink, but who takes care of Bruno? No one! Because providers don’t need to be babied, obviously, and that’s exactly what he is. The provider. The man of the house. 

His favorite albums from Miles Davis are Agharta and Bitches Brew, which are jazz-fusion, avant-garde jazz, funk rock, and jazz-rock. I tend to think of jazz as slow, easy listening, but it’s wild, it’s experimental, it’s everything Bruno doesn’t allow himself to be in favor of keeping his perfect family fantasy safe and sound.  The Bucciarati household is always loud- whether that be from Narancia and Pannacotta “playing,” in Bruno’s words, or from the little record player that lives in the living room. He offered to buy Pannacotta some vinyl records, but he never took him up on it. It’s a bit of a sore subject. The bookcase has a cardboard box in it filled to the brim with albums from Miles Davis, Sade, Frank Sinatra, Tupac, and his darling’s alleged music taste- he guessed based off of what was in your room. How did he get in your room? Don’t be silly, he never said he was in your room. 

Bruno takes up two personas in order to maintain his fantasies, his passione one and his fatherly one, and flips back and forth depending on what’s going to work best. It’s rare to see Bruno just… being himself. He’s obsessed with how things are supposed to be- he wants what he never had. A big, happy family. 

His passione one is where he gets his sadism out of his system, where he tells himself he’s just doing whatever it takes to keep his family safe and sound and not thoroughly enjoying beating the shit out of whoever Polpo tells him to. He grabs your wrists too tightly when moving you out of his way, gets a little too loud with you, sometimes. He doesn’t hit his darling normally- no, that’s not what a good husband would do- but sometimes you just make comments that burrow themselves under his skin, and he can’t help but react. 

He doesn’t shy away when he does it, either. He always doubles down, giving you that firm tone he gives Narancia when he slacks off on important jobs, or how he would talk to someone while working a typical repo job. It’s like you’re talking to someone else- he doesn’t even bother to fake his normal smile. 

“Watch how you talk to me before you lose the ability to speak at all.”

It’s short and sweet. Nothing more needs to be said. 

He holds his head in his hands, later, thinking about how badly he just set himself back. At least he has the courtesy to open a window to let the smoke pour out. 

He doesn’t like smelling like cigarettes.

He isn’t really meant to be a father. He doesn’t really know how, but he’s trying to. He’s not meant to be a husband, either, with the way he treats his spouse, lately. But he’ll smile, and take that gentle tone, because he must. The world may be cruel, but he must not be. He has to work to not have that type of reaction when you speak to him so harshly. Maybe if he were a better man.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much. He’s trained himself so that his smile would always reach his eyes- he even trained his relaxed face to be a more palatable version of his actual relaxed face. You won’t open up to him if he scowls at you, or glares at you instead of looks. He wants everyone to think he’s gentle- he wants to be the father that everyone always comes back to visit once they’re all grown up. A better version of his father, who Bruno would argue was perfect, for what he had. 

His darling is meant to be his spouse- his other half. He longs for someone he can shower with pet names, someone who will melt into his hands, someone who appreciates just how much effort he puts into everything. It’s rare that Bruno can fully relax- there’s always something to be done, whether that be at home, or by Polpo’s order. 

But… He doesn’t truly trust his darling. He loves to micromanage, and it makes him anxious to think about you holding something sharp or standing on something unstable. Please just let him reach whatever it is you need for him- his stand can bring things down if it’s also out of his reach. 

Why do you want to drive? He knows how to drive. Why did you bring your wallet? Of course he’s going to pay for you- he asked you out, didn’t he? Oh, let's not cut up your own snack, you could hurt yourself… Bruno is begging to be needed. He finds his identity in being the man of the house- the provider, the father, the husband, but you just aren’t giving it to him, and it's driving him up the wall. 

It’s suffocating. It’s patronizing. You can shave by yourself, you’re not a child. You know how to take something out of the oven- you’re not going to use your bare hand to touch the metal that was just sitting at 177 degrees celsius.

A little note sits on your nightstand. It’s meant to be a bonding exercise, as he leaves a new one every morning, but you don’t speak italian. Bruno’s handwriting is neat and bubbly- why he put so much effort into making it legible but not in a language you understand is beyond you. 

‘Amore mio -

Sono innamorato di te. Non aprire la porta a nessuno.

Avete mangiato qualcosa? 

Tuo marito.’

You’re left to sit and stare at it, if you’d like, or get on with the chores you know you have to do before Bruno gets back.

It’s little moments of peace- of genuine privacy- like these that keep you going. You’ve been getting up earlier for this exact purpose. Bruno would really rather you sleep the entire morning away and wake up to him coming home in the afternoon, arms open and smiling, calling his name, maybe saying something like “Come back to bed, my love.” … but it’s healthier for you to be up during the day, getting some sun from the open windows, and engage your mind with some tasks that aren’t instant-pleasure based.

But sleeping in a little bit isn’t a crime. You’re welcome to sleep until Narancia gets up- he needs you to walk him through the steps of making breakfast, again. Don’t worry. You won’t be touching the stove, or using a knife. Just guide him through it verbally, and comfort him if it fails.

It eats Bruno alive when you don’t immediately greet him at the door.

He sighs a bit at the snack you brought him. The bowl makes a clack sound as you set it down on his desk. You took such care in peeling and slicing some apples for him, he should be grateful. 

“Bello. What’s this for? I’d rather you not use the peeler unsupervised.”

“Wasn’t. Narancia was watching.” 

Bruno bites his lip a bit, but is quick to fix his face. He smiles at you oh-so-lovingly. “I didn’t know he was warming up to you, amore. Did something happen?” His hand reaches for the bowl, his wrist sits on the old wood of his desk, and his fingers tap the brim ever so lightly. He’s debating eating it to ‘please’ you or not, debating if he can hide his distaste for the fruit from his almost-spouse. So close.

“No.” Your answer is simple. It’s behaving without submitting. He wants the full story. Wants to know why his son is hovering over his darling- if this wasn’t done by a peeler, and actually done by the small pocket knife he trusted his son to have around you- 

“Perhaps it’s the exposure to you, then.” He really does it. He pops one of the smaller slices into his mouth, and chews. His shoe makes a distinct tap as he bounces his knee under his desk. As much as he adores you, his fondness for apples is like his fondness for the boss.

You hum at his act of ‘love,’ and wait for him to finish chewing, and actually swallow. When he notices your stare, he opens his mouth to display that he actually did.

“See? There’s no need to fuss, I’m not having issues with eating. I eat very well, actually.”

Of course his mind jumps to you being concerned for him. When you don’t respond, he sighs a little bit, and stands.

“Amore, is there something you want to talk about? I’m open to your worries. That’s what I’m here for.”

The clack of his shoes don’t comfort you. 

His outstretched hand doesn’t ease your worries.

His voice doesn’t soothe you.

“I love you, tesoro mio.” His lips graze your cheek, “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like I’m going to eat you.”

His hand rests on your waist, pulling you in closer.

“Unless you’d like me to.”

#yandere bruno bucciarati #yandere bruno bucciarati x reader #god this took forever #my italian is rusty give me a break if the grammar is a bit off