Dazai Osamu | BEAST

The dimly lit room buzzed with tension, the sound of murmuring voices mixing with the faint hum of the air conditioning. Dazai stood at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his sleek, tailored suit. Across from him, the three men from a rival syndicate shuffled nervously in their seats, their eyes flicking back and forth as they awaited the final terms of the deal.

The transaction was a delicate one, a cross-border smuggling operation with high stakes: a shipment of stolen military-grade weapons coming from the black market in South America, in exchange for vital intelligence on the rival syndicates that were encroaching on the Port Mafia’s territory. The information was priceless, critical to securing the Mafia’s dominance in the region. Dazai’s role was simple, facilitating the deal and ensuring no one got cold feet. In return, he was to receive a cut of the profits.

"You’re offering a pretty substantial amount," Dazai mused, his voice low and smooth, almost amused. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, tapping a slow rhythm as his gaze lingered on the documents before him, financial reports, shipment details, everything checked and verified. "But, considering the risk on my end... crossing borders, dodging law enforcement, and whatnot—I think an additional fifty million will cover the expenses." He let the words settle in the air, watching the men’s reactions closely.

One of them, the leader of the group, a slick-haired man in an expensive, ill-fitting suit, shifted uncomfortably. He tried to hide his unease behind a confident facade but failed miserably. "You’ve got a deal, Dazai. Fifty million in exchange for the shipment and the intel." His hand stretched out to seal the bargain, but Dazai’s finger hovered over the papers, stopping him in his tracks.

"One last thing," Dazai said, his smile widening ever so slightly. His tone was sweet, but his eyes held something darker, sharp, and calculating. "You’re going to make sure the intel is clean. No false information. I’ll know if you try to pull anything. And remember, I’m not known for being a patient man." The implied threat was clear: cross him, and you wouldn't walk out of this room alive.

As the men nodded in agreement, their discomfort palpable, Dazai leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Everything was falling into place perfectly.

Then suddenly, Dazai’s attention shifted slightly as he caught a glimmer of movement from the corner of his eye. One of the men was staring a bit too intently at the figure standing just beside Dazai’s chair. You, Dazai’s trusted right-hand, had been silent throughout the negotiation, a silent sentinel standing at his side, your presence as sharp and commanding as always. But there was something in the way the man’s eyes lingered too long on you... too hungry, too predatory. Dazai’s lips curled into a smile, but it was cold.

He leaned forward, the mood in the room suddenly shifting. "Is there something you’d like to say about my associate, hmm?" Dazai’s voice was calm, but the weight behind it was undeniable. His eyes never left the man, who seemed to snap back into reality at the sound of Dazai’s question, but the unsettling look hadn’t quite left his face.

The man faltered for a moment, his confidence faltering before he cleared his throat. "Ah, no, no, nothing at all," he stammered, but his voice had an edge to it, something Dazai wasn’t buying.

Dazai's smile never wavered, though his eyes darkened, his gaze sharpening with an icy intensity. "Really? Because it seems like you were eyeing my... right-hand there a little too long. Is there something you find interesting about them?"

The man gulped, his lips twitching uncomfortably as he shifted in his seat. But then, as if he had no self-preservation left, he smirked, sly, filthy, the kind of look that made Dazai’s blood run cold.

"Well," the man began, his voice dripping with something vile, "if you really want to sweeten the deal, how about you hand over that pretty little thing right there?" His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, his smirk widening into something lecherous. "Fuck, I bet they’d make all sorts of sweet sounds if you just handled them right. Bet they’re nice and tight too—haven’t had a real fuck yet, have they? Someone like you probably keeps them all wound up, untouched. Such a waste." He let out a dark chuckle, licking his lips. "Come on, I’ll pay double. Hell, I’ll take real good care of them. Might even let you watch."

The room fell silent, tension thick enough to choke on. Everything froze, except for Dazai’s growing fury, his fingers twitching, itching for a reason to end the conversation permanently.