Chapter Text
Sukuna is not feeling his best today.
The art director on this shoot is unreasonably demanding, lunch was late by an hour, the studio is way too cramped, and to top it all off, the model is a complete idiot. A pretty boy, sure, and on a good day Sukuna would even admit that this boy is to his tastes—long lashes, beautiful jade eyes, porcelain skin, slim and tall—but today is not that day.
Not only are his standing poses awkward and stiff, he has trouble taking direction and basically acts like a newborn baby on set, wandering around touching cables he isn’t supposed to touch, asking stupid questions, eating food that isn’t meant for him.
Just a couple hours ago when the crew finally broke for lunch, all Sukuna wanted to do was bury his face in his favourite steak and potatoes meal that he had very shamelessly demanded the PA to buy, even though the restaurant was completely out of the way. Now that he thinks about it, that’s probably why lunch was late. But when he got to the table, the model was already halfway through his steak. He’d been avoiding conversation with everyone on set (expect Uraume) as much as he could, but this was unacceptable. Sukuna turned to the PA, a blue-haired girl who was very frantically trying to dump ice into a cooler.
“Did you get my steak?”
The girl jumped at his voice and immediately stood up to face him. “Ah… yes! It’s right over there…” She pointed to the container in front of the model, and her voice trailed off. Sukuna closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Did you label it? You know, with my name?” he asked calmly, like a lion waiting to pounce. Colour drained from her face.
“I was going to, I swear, I put it on the crew table—”
Sukuna didn’t even want to hear it. He left Uraume to deal with her and walked up to the model, who watched him approach with big green eyes.
“Hey princess, do you know how to read?” Sukuna pointed to the sign on the table that said ‘CREW’.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the model said with a mouthful of steak. He covered his mouth with a dainty hand and swallowed. How did he make steak-eating look so graceful? “I didn’t know this was yours.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of things you don’t know, huh?” Sukuna smiled sarcastically, swiping a container from the ‘CAST’ table. “It’s fine, now I get to eat your fancy little”—he looked down at the container—“sushi.”
Great. Little cucumber slices wrapped in rice. How cute. Sukuna might as well go outside and eat some grass while he’s at it.
He decided to sit alone on a stairwell outside to eat, the little sushi rolls looking ridiculously tiny in his large hands. Uraume, faithful as ever, joined him with their own container.
“The PA got fired,” they said gently, settling down on the step next to Sukuna. They stared at the sushi in Sukuna’s hand. “You didn’t take your steak back?”
“Do I look like a wild animal to you?” Sukuna scoffed. “How’d that make me look, snatching food from a twink like that?”
Uraume blinked. “Well, there’s chicken in the other crew lunches.”
Sukuna looked down at Uraume’s meal. Just rice and a sad little gravy-drumstick in the middle of the box. Sukuna cringed. “I’ll pass.”
Uraume watched him push the sushi around grumpily. “I’ll cook dinner at your house tonight.”
Sukuna instantly perked up at the offer. Uraume’s cooking could easily put Gordon Ramsey out of commission. His ego has been bruised, but the thought of having Uraume’s foie gras tonight was motivation enough. And so, the most unlikely words to ever come from his mouth were spoken.
“Please, and thank you."
~
Now, the crew is taking a much-needed break while the director looks through the shots with the editor, and Sukuna is sipping on his coffee next to Uraume. He overhears the director complaining about the exposure on one of the shots and scoffs.
“Can you believe that guy?” he shakes his head and takes another sip of coffee. “If it weren’t for the pay I’d be at home right now.”
Uraume nods politely. “I’ll put his name on the blacklist. You won’t have to worry about working with him after this.”
Sukuna cracks a smile. “You don’t like him either.”
Uraume takes a long sip and places their cup gently on the ground. “Well.”
Sukuna is about to tease Uraume further when he sees something out of the corner of his eye.
The model had just placed his coffee cup on Sukuna’s Magliner.
“Oi,” Sukuna snaps, standing up, slightly miffed that he isn’t tall enough to loom over the boy. “Does this look like a fucking kitchen counter to you?”
The model looks at his cup and picks it up immediately. “Sorry, I thought—”
“You see that?” Sukuna points to his camera, resting on the top of the cart. “Even your pretty face can’t save you if you get your vanilla latte on it.”
The model looks unfazed, much to Sukuna’s annoyance. He glances at him through those long lashes. “It’s black coffee.”
Uraume stands up, but Sukuna has his eyes locked on the model’s. “How about you just not put your shit on the Magliner—"
“—What’s your name?” Sukuna says, and Uraume is quiet as a mouse.
“Fushiguro Megumi.”
Megumi. Sukuna wants to laugh. Everything about this boy is pretty. Does he shit rainbows, too?
“Megumiiiiiiii~” From behind, a lanky man leaps forward and drapes his obscenely-long arms over Megumi’s shoulders. Sukuna’s rolls his eyes.
“Gojo,” he clips, “should have known he was another one of your dolls.”
“Hi Sukuna!” Gojo just about yells. Megumi winces at the volume of his voice. “He is! Look at him, isn’t he pwetty?” He squishes Megumi’s cheeks such that his little pink lips pucker. The make-up artist throws a comb at Gojo’s head, screaming about how she’s going to have to redo Megumi’s makeup again. Sukuna’s never really liked Kugisaki, but she scores a point in his book just for that.
“What street did you pick this one off of?” Sukuna asks. Gojo has a reputation of scouting random people off the streets and guiding them to stardom. He did that for Sukuna’s younger brother, Yuuji, but Sukuna would never admit that Yuuji’s popularity has been a significant factor in his success as a photographer.
Owning the most reputable modelling agency in Japan aside, Sukuna can’t stand being in the same room as Gojo. He’s cocky, clingy, very very noisy, and Sukuna can never tell what he’s really thinking. What’s worse is that Gojo is constantly begging Sukuna to try modelling, gushing over how his facial tattoos would be a game-changer in the industry, all that nonsense.
“College campus,” Gojo smiles, patting Megumi on the head. “He needed the extra cash, this poor baby.”
“They let a pervert like you on campus?” Sukuna asks with a raised brow, and he swears he sees Megumi hide a smile. “Anyway, keep him away from my gear and we won’t have any problems.”
Gojo pouts and puts his hand on Megumi’s shoulders, slowly leading him away. “Don’t take it to heart, Megumi. Sukuna looks scary but he hasn’t tried to punch me yet…” He purses his lips. “Okay he did try one time at the fashion week afterparty last year, but you know. He’s just acting tough to look sexy, and I don’t blame you if you’re into that…”
“I’m really fuckin’ tempted to try again!” Sukuna yells, very annoyed and maybe even a little bit embarrassed.
Gojo cackles obnoxiously. “Go ahead darling, my face is insured!” Sukuna rolls his eyes. What the hell happened? He was supposed to have the upper hand in that confrontation.
“I’ll put Gojo’s name on the blacklist too,” Uraume says.
“Don’t be stupid, what’ll that leave me with? College projects? I’m not doing $500 a day in some dingy studio.”
Uraume offers him an awkward pat on the shoulder. Sukuna sighs. He has never wanted to go home more in his life.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Uraume asks for the fifth time over the car speakers. Sukuna sighs, hands sliding off the steering wheel at a red light.
“Just tell me what you’re worried about.”
“Unknown client, unknown model, skeleton crew with no director, and the shoot location is the client’s house,” Uraume pauses for a moment, maybe waiting for Sukuna to connect the dots. When he doesn’t, Uraume continues. “Does that not sound like a porn shoot to you?”
“He’s paying me five grand for four hours, Uraume.”
“Ryomen Sukuna, professional fashion photographer for Dior, Louis Vuitton, Hermès, and Playboy.”
Sukuna lets it sit in the air for a while. “Doesn’t sound half bad.”
“Open to home pornography bookings—”
“—Ooookay, I’m hanging up now,” Sukuna says, ending the call.
Uraume can be overly protective of Sukuna, but their concern isn’t unwarranted. The email Sukuna received about the job offer contained no information other than the pay, hours, location, and an indication that it was preferred if Sukuna could do the job alone. There was no call sheet, just a promise that the shoot wouldn’t go past four hours. It seemed like an easy cash grab at the time, but Uraume’s worry seems to have rubbed off a little on Sukuna. Oh well, he’ll know once he gets there.
Sukuna’s GPS pings, and he turns into the driveway of a massive house with a beautifully maintained yard. He whistles to himself as he turns off the engine. As he’s getting his gear out of the boot, an old, fat man steps outside, arm slung around a tall, slim boy.
“Thank you for accepting the job,” the old man says, extending a hand. “Suzuki Isao.”
Sukuna looks up from his trunk and immediately realises who the model is. Unexpected, but a welcome surprise.
“Ryomen Sukuna,” he says, shaking Suzuki’s hand. He turns to look at the model. “And hello to you too, princess.”
“Ah, I don’t believe you’ve met. This is the model for today,” Suzuki says, squeezing the model’s shoulder. He shrinks uncomfortably in Suzuki’s hold.
“Oh, we’ve met before. Isn’t that right, Megumi?” Sukuna shoots him a devilish grin as he drags Megumi’s name out on his tongue.
“Fushiguro,” Megumi corrects coldly, quietly. Sukuna feels his blood pressure spike, but the grin on his face splits wider. It’s been a while since he’s worked with models who had the balls to stand up to him. This is going to be an interesting shoot.
“Yes. Of course. Fushiguro.”
~
The moment he steps into the house, Sukuna realises that the only people working on the shoot are Suzuki, and Megumi, and himself. While Megumi changes out of his clothes in one of the many rooms in the house, Suzuki tells Sukuna how he wants the shot framed.
“So, is this for a new clothing line or something?” Sukuna asks casually as he positions his camera, wondering if he’s really doing a porn shoot today.
“Oh! Uh…” Suzuki seems embarrassed. “It’s a personal project. Please keep this confidential.”
Megumi opens the door and walks towards them in a very skimpy maid dress, frilly hem resting high on his thighs, sheer stockings covering his knees. The milky skin of his chest peeks through the low-cut neckline of the dress. Sukuna stares for a few seconds at how unbothered Megumi looks in that white headdress. Thank god he wore his baggiest pair of cargo pants today. After he’s had his fill, Sukuna turns to smile at Suzuki and gives him a few heavy, satisfied pats on the shoulder.
“No problem man, you’re paying.”
Suzuki bends Megumi over a table to pour tea, the skirt riding up high to show the back of his smooth thighs. After that, he gets Megumi to lie on a bed like a mermaid, posing with a feather duster. Finally, he tells Megumi to lean towards the camera, chest in full view. And as always, his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, careless. As if it doesn’t interest him in the least that he’s very possibly the most beautiful thing on the planet. It’s ruthless. Sukuna nearly has a heart attack.
The five-minute break he gets while waiting for Megumi’s wardrobe change feels like he’s finally surfacing water to catch his breath. He whips his phone out and sees a text from Uraume.
Was I right?
Sukuna rubs at his temples.
Just hope I can hide my tent for the rest of the shoot.
Uraume immediately comes online and starts typing.
Are you familiar with the concept of oversharing?
Sukuna sighs and shoves the phone back in his pocket. Megumi unlocks the room door with a click and emerges in a skin-tight black leotard. Sukuna can see the buds of his nipples through the stretched fabric, the gentle contours of his abs, and an adorably-sized bulge that the leotard just barely covers. The fabric cuts up from his crotch, exposing the curve of his slim hips, smooth skin over lean muscle. Bunny ears to finish the look, and of course, he’s wearing stilettoes. Sukuna didn’t actually think it could get worse than the maid dress, but he has never been more wrong in his life.
He’s still drinking in the sight when Suzuki swoops in to “get a better look” at Megumi’s leotard.
“Yes, it looks good on you,” Suzuki says, very redundantly, hands gliding over Megumi’s waist, his hips, his shoulders. Megumi noticeably shirks from his touch. Slender fingers come up to stop Suzuki’s hands from roaming lower on his back.
“Thank you,” Megumi smiles thinly, “I think we can take the pictures now.”
As they walk past Sukuna on the porch, Suzuki still has a stubborn hand resting on the small of Megumi’s back. Sukuna watches carefully as he lays Megumi on the grass. Megumi listens obediently, arching his back off the ground and lifting a leg up to show off his toned calf. Sukuna snaps away, trying to ignore the aching pain in his groin.
While Sukuna is setting up for the next shot, Megumi adjusts his hair and makes sure his leotard covers up properly. That’s when he’s abruptly attacked with a water hose. Sukuna startles and quickly jerks his camera away from the jet of water.
“Watch it,” he snaps at Suzuki, who’s now turning the water off. Megumi gasps for air and runs a hand through his wet hair. The leotard clings stubbornly to his skin as he heaves, and Sukuna can really see his abs now. As his eyes travel lower, he realises he can see the outline of something else too, and being the polite gentleman that he is, he very respectfully looks away.
“This wasn’t in the email,” Megumi clips, sourly taking off the drooping bunny ears.
“Come on, just a few more shots and I’ll transfer you the money,” Suzuki pleads, walking up to Megumi and grabbing his bicep. Megumi pushes his hand away, but follows to his spot on the grass again. Suzuki guides him to sit, leans him backwards, holds Megumi’s knees up to his chest. He presses on Megumi’s abdomen to make him lean back further, and his hand slips lower, lower, until Sukuna sees Megumi flinch through his monitor.
“Hey,” Sukuna raises his voice, glaring until Suzuki’s hand shies away. “Don’t push it, man.”
Suzuki laughs awkwardly and walks to Sukuna’s side. “Sorry, my hand slipped.”
Sukuna wants to sock him in the face just for that lame excuse, but he wants his pay check more, so he ignores the man and looks through his monitor again. Megumi is staring right at him through the lens. His leotard has shifted, exposing part of his ball sack. Sukuna swallows. He leans away from the camera to take a sip of water.
“Wardrobe malfunction."
Suzuki scrambles to look at the shot.
“Fushiguro!” Sukuna yells. “Your—"
“Take the picture,” Suzuki says under his breath, sliding a $100 note into Sukuna’s hand. He stares at it for a moment, trying to register whatever the hell is happening right now.
“Fuck, are you serious? Does he know about this?”
Suzuki sighs in frustration. “Don’t be difficult, Sukuna. How much do you want?”
Sukuna can feel his cock shrivel and dry just from pure disgust. He shoves the bill into Suzuki’s chest. “Keep your fucking money.”
He walks up to Megumi before Suzuki can, and extends a hand to help him up. “It’s a wrap, go change.”
Megumi blinks, but he takes Sukuna’s hand. It’s clammy from the hose water.
“But, there was another outfit—"
“No, it’s over. He tried to bribe me.” Sukuna passes Megumi a dry towel. He accepts gratefully, wrapping it around his shoulders.
“What? Bribe you to do what?”
“Just shut up and get changed. We’ll talk in the car.” Sukuna shoos him into the changing room and quickly walks back to pack up his equipment.
Suzuki is standing over the camera, livid.
“Get the fuck out of my face before I punch you,” Sukuna snarls, and Suzuki steps aside, flinching at Sukuna’s aggressiveness. Sukuna begins to dismantle the camera on his Magliner.
“We had an agreement. You’re being very unprofessional here.”
Sukuna almost laughs. “Oh yeah, I’m the unprofessional one.”
“I’ll have you know I can ruin your career with a snap of my fingers.”
Sukuna really laughs this time, loud and obnoxious. “I haven’t heard that one since Shibuya!” he says, slapping Suzuki on the back. “Those were good times, I’d love to relive some of those memories,” Sukuna grins wildly. Suzuki shrinks in fear.
“Sukuna?”
Both of them turn to look at a clueless Megumi, back in his modest T-shirt and jeans. He rubs the last of the moisture out of his hair with the towel and places it neatly on the back of a chair.
“You took advantage of a broke college student and bribed me to take pictures of his balls, I don’t know how you’re going to talk your way out of that,” he says loudly, so Megumi can hear. It works, Megumi’s eyes widen, his ears turn pink, and he quietly leaves to wait for Sukuna in the driveway. Sukuna turns back and smiles at Suzuki. “We’ll see who makes the first move, hmm?”
He hikes his camera bag on his shoulder and heads to the driveway.
Megumi stands awkwardly by the side of the car, watching as Sukuna loads his equipment into the trunk.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Sukuna jokes, slamming the boot shut, and Megumi averts his gaze sheepishly. Sukuna unlocks the car and gets into the driver’s seat. Megumi sits beside him.
“You got anywhere to be?” Sukuna asks calmly, as if they didn’t just walk out on a client empty-handed. “Wanna grab a bite? I’m starving.”
Megumi shakes his head. “I’m good, you can just drop me off at campus.”
And then, his stomach lets out a loud growl of betrayal.
“You sure about that?” Sukuna teases as he backs out of the driveway. Megumi is facing out the window, but Sukuna can see his nape flushed red.
“Maybe just a sandwich.”
“There we go.”
Sukuna smiles to himself, satisfied, and turns out onto the main road.