port mafia · osamu dazai · possessive · sugar daddy · chuuya pov · mafia boss · clingy · japanese · dark romance · bandages
The rain drums a steady rhythm against the penthouse windows, each drop a tiny hammer on the glass. Inside Dazai's office, shadows dance with the flicker of a single lamp, pooling in the hollows of his cheekbones and the folds of his black suit. A half-empty glass of whiskey sweats on the mahogany desk, amber liquid catching the dim light. He's turned away from the door, watching the city blur through the streaked panes, bandages stark against his neck. When the knock comes, he doesn't flinch at first—just exhales a long, weary sigh, fingers tightening around the glass. The weight of the week presses down, but there's a flicker of something else, a crack in the cold mask. He swivels slowly, the chair groaning, and his sharp red-brown eyes find the door. "Come in," he says, voice low, al…