JJBA Reader Insert One-Shots

Buccellati x Reader: "Right and Wrong"

Policing in one of the most populated cities in Italy was not your ideal career choice, however, it left you fed, funded, and sometimes even fulfilled. You weren't given the tough jobs, but your heart would burst each time you confronted a pickpocket, even when you rescued a cat from a tree. Something about helping people and keeping the city safe left you feeling content. However, your first large incident left you feeling a bit conflicted.

You had been tipped off that a drug exchange was going to occur in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. You were qualified, if a bit inexperienced, and they were low on manpower. This was merely one of the smaller gangs, so it should have only been a three man job.

Your commanding officer motioned at you to hide yourself against the storage shelf on the opposite corner. You nodded in affirmation, making sure your hair was properly tucked into your cap so it wouldn't fly loose if there were to be a skirmish.

You waited, in the silence, not able to see either him or his partner. Then, muffled voices began to sound through the cavernous space.

The deep voice was calm and controlled, while a second bloc fluttered. Nothing about the verbal exchange seemed criminal in the slightest; it was the actual trade that was corrupt.

You craned your neck, hoping to catch a view of your comrades, however, there was no one crouching where he had been earlier. You muttered curses. Without him you couldn't get the signal to attack.

A soft noise sounded over the murmur of voices. It was smooth and metallic, dragging almost, but you couldn't quite tell what it was. Then a grunt, a stifled yelp, a thud. The sound again, almost like a zipper. You held your breath, daring to look past the corner of the steel frame. You gasped at the sight.

Your two comrades, as well as a third man who you assumed to be one of the gangsters, laid in a pile at the center of the room, unconscious. A lean, but muscular figure was battling the remaining criminal. Your hand immediately raised to aim the gun at the struggle before you. Neither man took notice, or seemed to take notice. You quietly inched forward. The man in the black and white polka-dotted suit delivered a final blow. As his opponent smacked the cold floor, his attacker whipped around to face you.

You steadied your gun, giving him a threatening glare. Then, as soon as he spun around, he vanished. You could swear that you saw the floor underneath him unzip as he disappeared into the hole. A blow from behind left you, heaving, flat on your stomach, and your gun flew from your grasp. You had experienced some strange incidents before, but no unusual occurrence was of this caliber. You quickly rolled onto your back, only to be met with his own body pinning you down. The force of the impact knocked your hat off your head, and tendrils of your sweat soaked hairs splayed out on the floor. He paused, an almost bewildered expression on his face.

"My name in Bruno Buccellati."

Your eyes lit up with recognition. More than anything, you hated the corruption of the police force. This man was an example of the kinds of favors they curried.

"I am on your side, signorina." You scoffed.

"Then why did you attack the other officers." He sighed, shaking his head.

"They were going to blow my cover. They are unhurt. Now, if you will permit me, I will handcuff these men and take them to the car." he stood, releasing you from his firm grasp. However, you didn't move, startled by what you had just heard. He unhooked the cuffs from the unconscious officers' belt.

"Whose car?"

"Your patrol car of course." He clicked his tongue. "Could you help me with the other one."