The office was silent save for the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, its hands creeping closer to midnight. Dazai leaned back in his plush chair, his dark red eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous as they settled on Chuuya, who stood stiffly before him. The ginger’s ocean-blue eyes burned with defiance, his fists clenched at his sides, his posture screaming I hate you even as the subtle flush on his cheeks betrayed something else entirely.“You’re late,” Dazai said, his voice smooth as honey, though the edge beneath it was sharp enough to cut. He twirled a pen between his fingers, the motion lazy, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world—and he did. He was the boss now, after all. The Port Mafia was his playground, and Chuuya… well, Chuuya was his most prized toy.“Traffic,” Chuuya snapped, his voice strained. It wasn’t entirely a lie—the streets had been clogged with cars—but it wasn’t the whole truth either. He’d hesitated outside the building for a good ten minutes, debating whether he should just turn around and leave. But here he was, standing in front of Dazai like a fool, his pulse racing faster than it ever did in battle.Dazai’s lips curved into a smile, slow and predatory. “Ah, of course. How careless of me not to consider that.” He set the pen down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His gaze never wavered from Chuuya’s face, drinking in every flicker of emotion—the way Chuuya’s jaw tightened, the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his chest rose and fell just a fraction too quickly. “But then again, you’ve always been one for excuses, haven’t you, Chuuya?”Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it looked like he might lunge across the desk. Instead, he forced out a laugh, bitter and sharp. “Fuck you, Dazai. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”“No,” Dazai agreed, his tone light but his eyes darkening. “But you do need to obey me. Or have you forgotten who’s in charge here?” He stood slowly, his height giving him a natural advantage as he rounded the desk, his movements smooth and unhurried. Chuuya didn’t back away—he never did—but his body tensed, bracing for whatever game Dazai was about to play.“You think I care about your little power trip?” Chuuya shot back, though his voice wavered slightly as Dazai stepped closer. The distance between them was almost nonexistent now, and Chuuya could feel the heat radiating off the taller man, could smell the faint scent of cologne mingling with something darker, more primal. It made his stomach twist in a way he refused to acknowledge.“Oh, Chuuya,” Dazai murmured, his breath ghosting over the shorter man’s ear as he leaned in close. “It’s not a power trip if you enjoy it just as much as I do.” His hand came up to brush a strand of ginger hair from Chuuya’s face, the touch deceptively gentle. “Tell me the truth. Why did you hesitate outside? Were you afraid? Or were you just trying to figure out how badly you wanted this?”Chuuya’s breath hitched, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing into a glare. He slapped Dazai’s hand away, but the tremor in his fingers betrayed him. “Don’t flatter yourself, bastard. The only thing I want is to see you dead.”Dazai chuckled, low and throaty, the sound sending a shiver down Chuuya’s spine despite himself. “That’s funny, because the way you’re looking at me right now says otherwise.” He tilted his head, studying Chuuya as if he were a puzzle to be solved. “You can deny it all you want, but we both know the truth. You crave this. You crave me.”Chuuya’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—anger, frustration, and something far more dangerous that he refused to name. He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Dazai’s presence was overwhelming, his closeness suffocating yet intoxicating all at once.Dazai’s smile widened, victorious. “That’s what I thought.” He stepped back, giving Chuuya just enough space to breathe but not enough to escape the tension that hung thick in the air between them. “Get some rest,” he said, his tone almost dismissive now. “We have a busy day tomorrow. And don’t forget—you belong to me.”Chuuya didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was still reeling as Dazai turned away, leaving him standing there with his heart racing and his thoughts in chaos. He hated Dazai—he had to hate him—but the way his body reacted to the man’s words, to his touch… it terrified him more than any battle ever could.As he turned to leave, Dazai’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Oh, and Chuuya?” He paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, his red eyes gleaming with mischief. “Next time you hesitate… I won’t be so patient.”

In the quiet of the office, Dazai, the boss of the Port Mafia, taunted Chuuya for being late, his words sharp and his eyes glinting with amusement. Chuuya, standing stiffly before him, exchanged heated words with Dazai, who stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he whispered in Chuuya's ear. Dazai dismissed Chuuya with a warning, leaving him shaken and unable to speak.

The office was silent save for the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, its hands creeping closer to midnight. Dazai leaned back in his plush chair, his dark red eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous as they settled on Chuuya, who stood stiffly before him. The ginger’s ocean-blue eyes burned with defiance, his fists clenched at his sides, his posture screaming I hate you even as the subtle flush on his cheeks betrayed something else entirely.

“You’re late,” Dazai said, his voice smooth as honey, though the edge beneath it was sharp enough to cut. He twirled a pen between his fingers, the motion lazy, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world—and he did. He was the boss now, after all. The Port Mafia was his playground, and Chuuya… well, Chuuya was his most prized toy.

“Traffic,” Chuuya snapped, his voice strained. It wasn’t entirely a lie—the streets had been clogged with cars—but it wasn’t the whole truth either. He’d hesitated outside the building for a good ten minutes, debating whether he should just turn around and leave. But here he was, standing in front of Dazai like a fool, his pulse racing faster than it ever did in battle.

Dazai’s lips curved into a smile, slow and predatory. “Ah, of course. How careless of me not to consider that.” He set the pen down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His gaze never wavered from Chuuya’s face, drinking in every flicker of emotion—the way Chuuya’s jaw tightened, the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his chest rose and fell just a fraction too quickly. “But then again, you’ve always been one for excuses, haven’t you, Chuuya?”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it looked like he might lunge across the desk. Instead, he forced out a laugh, bitter and sharp. “Fuck you, Dazai. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“No,” Dazai agreed, his tone light but his eyes darkening. “But you do need to obey me. Or have you forgotten who’s in charge here?” He stood slowly, his height giving him a natural advantage as he rounded the desk, his movements smooth and unhurried. Chuuya didn’t back away—he never did—but his body tensed, bracing for whatever game Dazai was about to play.

“You think I care about your little power trip?” Chuuya shot back, though his voice wavered slightly as Dazai stepped closer. The distance between them was almost nonexistent now, and Chuuya could feel the heat radiating off the taller man, could smell the faint scent of cologne mingling with something darker, more primal. It made his stomach twist in a way he refused to acknowledge.

“Oh, Chuuya,” Dazai murmured, his breath ghosting over the shorter man’s ear as he leaned in close. “It’s not a power trip if you enjoy it just as much as I do.” His hand came up to brush a strand of ginger hair from Chuuya’s face, the touch deceptively gentle. “Tell me the truth. Why did you hesitate outside? Were you afraid? Or were you just trying to figure out how badly you wanted this?”

Chuuya’s breath hitched, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing into a glare. He slapped Dazai’s hand away, but the tremor in his fingers betrayed him. “Don’t flatter yourself, bastard. The only thing I want is to see you dead.”

Dazai chuckled, low and throaty, the sound sending a shiver down Chuuya’s spine despite himself. “That’s funny, because the way you’re looking at me right now says otherwise.” He tilted his head, studying Chuuya as if he were a puzzle to be solved. “You can deny it all you want, but we both know the truth. You crave this. You crave me.”

Chuuya’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—anger, frustration, and something far more dangerous that he refused to name. He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Dazai’s presence was overwhelming, his closeness suffocating yet intoxicating all at once.

Dazai’s smile widened, victorious. “That’s what I thought.” He stepped back, giving Chuuya just enough space to breathe but not enough to escape the tension that hung thick in the air between them. “Get some rest,” he said, his tone almost dismissive now. “We have a busy day tomorrow. And don’t forget—you belong to me.”

Chuuya didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was still reeling as Dazai turned away, leaving him standing there with his heart racing and his thoughts in chaos. He hated Dazai—he had to hate him—but the way his body reacted to the man’s words, to his touch… it terrified him more than any battle ever could.

As he turned to leave, Dazai’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Oh, and Chuuya?” He paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, his red eyes gleaming with mischief. “Next time you hesitate… I won’t be so patient.”

In the gritty underworld of the Port Mafia, a dominant and manipulative Dazai rules with an iron fist, using his charm and cunning to control those around him. His submissive yet fiercely independent right-hand man, Chuuya, struggles with his conflicting feelings of hatred and twisted love for Dazai, leading to a complex dynamic where their interactions are fueled by violence and raw, unspoken desire.

Seduction Beneath the Mafia's Gaze

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