What else do I want from you?...

by fishes_r_weird

Summary:

Mafioso had built his empire on fear — anyone who stood in his way ended up gone. But Chance, the reckless gambler who owed him, was different. Infuriating, insufferable, yet irresistibly endearing, Chance was the one person Mafioso couldn’t bring himself to crush.

Between debts, casinos, and dangerous nights, Mafioso knew what Chance owed him. What he didn’t expect was the peculiar feeling clawing at him whenever Chance was near — a dangerous softness that threatened to undo him more than any person ever could.

Notes:

Oml lmao hai world. This is my first AO3 post so my bad for any grammar mistakes, hope the story is easy to understand. Opinions would be appreciated!

ALR enough yip yapping and feast, my doublefedora gooners (I hope lol)
They might be ooc, shh we don't talk abt it

Posting may be inconsistent cause of school 💔🥀 sincere apologies

Chapter 1: Just creditor and debtor, right?

"Can this be your last drink of the night?" Mafioso sighed, glancing at the gambler beside him.

"Awh, c’mon man, learn to have some fun."

Chance grinned, loose and careless, as if they weren’t sitting beside the mafia boss they owed hundreds of thousands to.

Mafioso’s jaw tightened beneath the brim of his fedora, shadow hiding half his expression. "We’re here to talk about your debt — not to watch you drown that sorry heart of yours," he muttered, voice low but sharp.

Chance rolled their eyes behind tinted shades and waved for another Long Island Iced Tea.

The bar was quiet, unusually peaceful. For a moment, it felt less like debtor and creditor, more like… two men killing time at the edge of the night.

"Hello? Sir—" Chance started, but their words cut short as Mafioso smacked their hand away. His fingers lingered a beat too long on their skin before he pulled back.

"That’s enough. No more drinks," he said, stern but softer than he meant to. He pushed back from his seat as if to leave.

Halfway to the door, he faltered. Something felt… wrong. He turned.

Chance was slumped over the counter, shades tilted, lips parted as if caught mid-smile. Vulnerable. Unsteady. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Mafioso’s chest tightened.

He exhaled, returned, and rested a hand on their shoulder. "Come on. It’s gettin’ late. Let’s go."

Chance looked up, dazed, their gaze catching on Mafioso’s face. Before they could protest, he pulled them gently to their feet, guiding their arm around his broad shoulders. Their weight pressed against him, warm and unsteady, and he felt the soft brush of their breath against his skin. Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he cursed under his breath — but he didn’t let go.

Somewhere along the way, Chance drifted off, head resting on his shoulder. Mafioso only noticed when their full weight sank into him, heavier than it should have been. He exhaled, steadying them with an arm around their back. In that fragile state, they were entirely at his mercy. He could have broken them in half if he wished… yet his grip stayed gentle.

For once, the mask of sternness cracked — and instead of cruelty, he chose care.