Under the Table, Under His Control

The dimly lit conference room of the Port Mafia Headquarters hums with the kind of tension that could snap a steel cable. The long, imposing mahogany table gleams under the faint amber glow of overhead lights, reflecting the hard faces of high-ranking mafia members seated around it. Their voices are a low rumble of power plays and veiled threats, but beneath the table, where the cold, unyielding floor bites into my knees, I’m in a world of my own. A world ruled by Dazai Osamu, whose voice cuts through the air above me like a blade, sharp and deliberate, as he drones on about territory disputes.

I can barely make out the specifics of his words—something about rival gangs overstepping boundaries—because my focus is elsewhere. The heat of his presence is suffocating, even through the fabric of his tailored trousers. His hand, lazily draped over the edge of his chair, occasionally brushes through my hair with a mocking tenderness that makes my skin crawl and my pulse race in equal measure. The faint rustle of papers and murmurs of agreement from the other members fill the room, but they’re just background noise to the storm brewing in my chest. Resentment churns there, thick and bitter, alongside something darker, something I refuse to name as I work him with a precision that’s become second nature.

Every bastard in this room knows what’s happening beneath this table. The thought gnaws at me, a jagged edge of humiliation, but none of them dare speak a word. They’re either too scared of Dazai’s unpredictable wrath or too complicit in this twisted game to care. My heart thuds hard against my ribcage, a mix of loathing and that unnameable heat, as I keep my rhythm steady, refusing to let them—or him—see me falter.

Dazai shifts in his chair, the movement subtle but deliberate, his voice never faltering as he transitions to discussing shipment schedules with the same detached authority. But I feel it—the tension coiling in his thighs, a silent command to keep going, to not dare stop. I grit my teeth, my jaw tight with more than just effort, but I obey. For now.

A sudden lull in the conversation above sends my pulse spiking. The room’s attention drifts to a side argument—some botched job that’s got tempers flaring—and the silence around me feels like a spotlight. I’m exposed, even hidden as I am, the weight of their unspoken awareness pressing down harder than the cold floor. My breath catches, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Dazai’s gaze drops to me then, through the shadow of the table, his dark eyes glinting with a cruel amusement that makes my stomach twist. His lips curl into a smirk, slow and deliberate, promising trouble I’m not sure I’m ready for. “Doing so well, my little mutt,” he purrs under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, his words dripping with degrading praise that sets my skin on fire despite myself.

I glare up at him, though I know he can barely see the defiance in my eyes from this angle. “Call me that again, and I’ll bite,” I hiss back, my voice a low growl, barely audible over the resumed murmurs of the meeting.

His smirk widens, and his hand tightens in my hair, guiding me with a roughness that’s both humiliating and electrifying. “Oh, I’d like to see you try,” he whispers, his tone laced with dark promise. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? My perfect little secret, right where you belong.”

I want to snap back, to tell him exactly where he can shove his ‘compliments,’ but the heat of his words coils low in my belly, betraying me. The meeting resumes, voices overlapping in a cacophony of strategy and threats, but Dazai’s focus splits effortlessly. His low murmurs to me grow filthier, detailing exactly what he’d do if we were alone—promises of hands and heat and no mercy that make my head spin even as I fight to keep my composure.

“You think you can keep that pretty face so composed when I’ve got you pinned down later?” he breathes, his voice a silken threat. “I’ll have you begging, sweetheart. You’ll forget how to say no.”

“Dream on, Dazai,” I mutter through gritted teeth, though my voice wavers just enough to betray the effect he’s having. “I don’t beg for anyone. Least of all you.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s pure menace wrapped in silk. “We’ll see about that, my favorite pet,” he says, the sickeningly sweet tone making my stomach twist with a volatile mix of loathing and need. My hands grip his thighs for balance, nails digging in just enough to remind him I’m not some mindless toy, even as I obey his unspoken demands. I’m not broken. Not yet.

The meeting drags on, an endless parade of posturing and power grabs, but Dazai’s whispered promises of what’s coming later—how he’ll bend me over this very table, how he’ll make me scream his name—make the air feel heavier, charged with unspoken tension. I can almost feel the weight of his words, the way they linger like a storm waiting to break.

I catch a fleeting glance from one of the members, a flicker of disgust or envy in their eyes before they look away, reinforcing my status as Dazai’s possession in this den of wolves. It stings, sharper than I’d like to admit, but I channel it into the bite of my nails against his skin, a silent fuck-you to them all.

As the meeting nears its end, Dazai’s control tightens, his final degrading compliment hissed through gritted teeth. “Such a good girl, taking it all for me. Just wait until I’ve got you alone.” His voice is a low growl now, raw with something that mirrors the anticipation burning in me, leaving me caught between shame and a hunger I can’t deny.

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, my own eyes blazing with defiance even as my body hums with the aftershocks of his words. “Keep talking, Dazai,” I say, my voice low and steady despite everything. “But remember—I’m not the only one who can play dirty.”

His smirk returns, sharper now, as if I’ve just thrown down a gauntlet he’s eager to pick up. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he murmurs, and I know, as the meeting finally adjourns, that whatever comes next will be a battle of wills neither of us intends to lose.