The Gentle Sweetness to His World | Mafioso x Reader
(I love Mafioso sm. Not proofread, raw writing. Soz if it doesn't make sense, this is mostly going with the flow of the writing and feelings.)
Living in the world of his isn't easy, having plenty of enemies, getting their hands dirty, using any means necessary for those who owe him to repay their debt; sometimes requiring blood to spill. It wasn't pretty, never was. He's realized that a long time ago, moments when he had to fight to survive in the cruel place he was born in. While he lives a lavish life as a mafioso, easily having access to everything and having people at his beck and call, he still feels empty. As if something was missing.
Until he met you. You were just tending to your family's garden when you'd spotted him by the gate, assuming that he's the one your father was going to be speaking with. Most wouldn't even spare him a glance, let alone speak to them, given his circumstances and his position. He understands that. Why would anyone try to get close to him, a mob leader who's involved with all sorts of things, knowing fully well what he's delving into since he was young as a means to survive.
Either you were blissfully unaware of his stature or you were just trying to be nice, he couldn't tell when you gave him a smile before you continued with your daily life. He was lost, yet seemingly.. enthralled by you, somehow. It was stupid, really, to be reeled in by just a smile from a random stranger. For all he knows, you were probably trying to pull on the strings, to get on his favour, but that never was the case for you.
You were naïve in your way of thinking, looking through certain things in a rose-tinted glasses as you talk about how you wished the world never had to spill any blood, to live in harmony with one another. Yet you knew it'll only be too good to be true, the world being far too complex and dark for one to want such a change. Your father was an example of that — the leader of a mob group. He'd gotten his hands dirty to get to where you are now, to keep you alive, happy and well fed, spoiled even. You never liked it, hated it when it involves arguments, threats, deaths. But you relented, knowing that you wouldn't be able to experience the normal lives like everyone else does. The least you could do was to keep yourself occupied with the things you enjoy, ones that makes you happy despite your life being different than the rest.
You didn't know what you were getting into when you met him, enamored by his presence. He looked scary, yet somehow also, gentle? It was a surprising sight as well to see him keeping a white bunny by his side when you first saw him. Perhaps there's another side to him that he never lets anyone in the outside world knows. Either that, or you were only trying to see the good things in him just like you do so with everyone else.
You wonder, what sort of story would you hear from him, if you're able to have a conversation with him. What sort of person he truly is, what burden does he carry on his shoulders?; assuming he has a lot of responsibilities he shoulders on his own that no other knows of.
To him, you were a breath of fresh air; someone who’s able to live their life with innocence, purity, as if the darkest parts of the world never bothered you, as if the work your family is involved in never disturbed your peace. He’s seen you treat your attendant with genuine respect and gentleness as if they are one of your own. You live your life with all your heart, taking care of your environment and people around you with such care and love like it was something so easily given, as if it was all that you knew. Whilst it is admirable, it too, is a dangerous thing to do, given your family’s position. Seeing someone being so open about it has him drawn towards you unknowingly, evoking something deep within him he’s uncertain of.
One evening, you caught him by the garden, taking a rest on a bench as he took a smoke of his cigarette. You noticed the tense look on his face, his lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line, seeming as if something is bothering him. He heard the sound of her footsteps against the stone path, weaving through the garden with each light step, a gentle presence that belonged to her alone. He turned his head instinctively at the slightest of sound, a flicker of surprise in his eyes to see you moving towards him. You’d never sought him out, your only interactions being the brief acknowledgement of one another by the front door or the garden before he disappears to meet your father.
“Hi,” your greeting was soft, carrying a kind of warmth his world rarely knew. “You seem.. tense. Are you okay?” You asked, stopping in your tracks as you stood by the bench, keeping a little distance from him in case it causes him discomfort.
Perceptive as ever, you were. Nothing escapes those eyes of yours, and it caught him off guard as you asked a question he never thought anyone would. His gaze lingered on you, a long, heavy silence settling between you both as the gentle breeze of the wind swept through the garden, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and the distant rustle of leaves.
He didn't speak at first. Just watched you, as though he’s weighing whether your concern was genuine or if it’s just another game he hasn’t learned how to play. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he spoke at last, his voice low, roughened not with threat but with something more uncertain, unfamiliar. You offered a small, tentative smile as you glanced at the blooming flowers in the distance.
“I just.. Saw you out here.” You muttered softly with a shrug of your shoulders. “Thought you could use a little company.” Your words caused a flicker of something passing through his expression — surprise, perhaps, or something dangerously close to curiosity. He didn’t know you that well. Not yet, but it was enough to stir something unfamiliar within him.
His lips quirked into a half-smirk, his gaze didn’t leave her face as he uttered, “Not many would. It’s not a good habit to make, sweetheart.” There was no venom in his words, just a warning dressed in reluctant fondness. You quirked an eyebrow at him, giving a soft huff of laughter. You shifted your gaze towards him as you prompted a question.
“Why not, though?” Your question was soft but steady, like your curiosity to know the reasoning behind it was genuine. There was no challenge in your voice, no sharpness — just a quiet kind of curiosity he’s unfamiliar with, unsettling him more than it should have. He lets out a huff, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Because people like me…” He trailed off, his eyes flickering to the ground for the briefest moment before finding yours again. “We don’t do well with softness. And the ones who offer it either get burned, or learn to bite first.” It wasn’t a warning meant to push you away or scare you off, no. If anything, it sounded more like a reluctant confession — as if he’s telling you something that no one else has ever bothered to ask. Or, he’s only trying to convince himself that anyone involved in the line of work similar to his could never experience softness like any other normal individuals would.
You held his gaze, fingers brushing against your palm, muttering, “Maybe I’m not afraid of a little fire.” Your words hold a subtle challenge to it, wanting to test the waters and see how he’d react to it. For the first time, genuine surprise flickered in his expression, his gaze lingering a second too long, like he didn’t expect to get that kind of answer from you and he wasn’t sure on what to do with it.
You didn’t give him a chance to retort back, your next words earning a pause. “Besides.. I don’t think you’re as bad as you want people to believe.” His expression faltered, not obvious enough for anyone else to notice, but you did. You caught it — the faintest hitch in his breath, the slight narrowing of his eyes like you’d struck a chord neither of you expected.
“You don’t know me.” He scoffed, voice quieter, words thick with something unspoken. “I don’t.” You admitted, another shrug of your shoulders, hands absently toying with the ends of your sleeves. “But I can tell when someone carries too much weight on their own.”
Another silence stretched between you, filled only by the sigh of the wind and the distant hum of the city beyond the garden walls. For a moment, he looked like he might speak, might let something slip by — but he broke away his gaze, glancing towards the dark horizon.
“Careful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You keep seeing things like that in people, this place might eat you alive.” It sounded like a threat, yet there was no bite to it. As if he’s telling you to keep you safe, away from what the world, his world, specifically, and your father’s, could do to someone like you. As if, despite himself, some stubborn, unwilling part of him cared enough to warn you, even knowing that it wouldn’t be enough.
“Maybe.” You said softly, a faint smile appearing on your lips, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes but carried a quiet stubbornness all the same. “But someone’s gotta try, don’t they?”
He huffed out a breath, something between a scoff and a laugh, shaking his head as if you were foolish, like you didn’t know what you were asking for — and maybe you didn’t. There was a flicker of reluctance and wary drawn all at once. It wasn’t pity nor was it amusement. It was the look of a man who hadn’t expected anyone to still believe people like him could be anything but what they were. People like him didn’t deserve softness, never get to have them, because people like you couldn’t survive long around men like him.
“You’re going to regret that one day,” he muttered, though the warning felt thin, lacking the edge it should’ve had. Perhaps even sounding like a confession.
“Maybe.” You said, your voice gentle but sure as you looked at him with a gaze that’s steadier than he expected. Not naive, not reckless. Just quietly certain. “But if I do, it won’t be because of you.”
And that struck something in him. You saw it — the way his expression stilled for a heartbeat, like the words had cut too close, like you’ve reached somewhere deep within the place he hadn’t meant to let you near. He didn’t answer you right away, just watched you in the thick, breathless silence. Then, he gave a low, almost humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”
But there was no heat in it, no longer a warning. He sounded almost resigned after hearing your words. You truly were trouble to him, cutting it too close to reaching deep within the depths of his heart, uncovering what lies beneath it. It’s as if you were starting to see past the blood on his hands, and he was starting to let you — and that might be the real danger of it all.
And then, because neither of you could trust what might come next, he stood up from where he was sitting, turning towards the garden path.
“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmured without looking back. “It’s getting late.”
And this time, he left — but not without glancing over his shoulder once, like he wasn’t sure if he’s hoping you’d already gone inside or stayed to watch him leave. Of course, you stayed, watching his figure gradually retreat into the distance, leaving your family’s estate. You clutch the front of your shirt as you stood there long after he left, the quiet of the night settling around you like a heavy blanket. The faint echo of his voice threading through your head.
“You’re going to regret that one day.”
Maybe. But something in you knew you wouldn’t. At least not for this.
He walked the path back towards his car, the glow of the lanterns scattered by painting the stone path in uneven light. The cigarette in his hand had burned down to nothing, and he dropped it with a flick of his fingers, grinding the ember out beneath his heels as he walked.
It was stupid, reckless even, he told himself. It was a huge mistake to let the conversation go as far as it had. He wasn’t supposed to get attached, to not linger in the softness you offer — he shouldn’t. It’d only risk you even further, bringing you into the dangerous world he has lived in for years. And yet, your voice lingered.
“Maybe. But if I do, it won’t be because of you.”
Trouble. That’s what you are — trouble in soft skin and bright eyes, in careful words that landed harder than any bullet. And yet, as he reached the gates of the estate, Mafioso hesitated. Just a second, one glance over his shoulder, and the empty stretch of the garden felt heavier than it should have.
