Chapter Text
Megumi never oversleeps. Never. This is definitely the worst imaginable time to try that out. The rain is pouring down when he sprints over the road, making the asphalt slippery and he ignores that he should not rush as much as he is to get in time for the interview he doesn’t even want to go to. He knows that the company he somehow managed to land an interview with is some high-end fancy kind of shit and not only will Megumi be late, but he is also going to barge in looking like a drenched cat. There is nothing that he can do about the rain, the strong wind pulling the umbrella like crazy, but it does nothing to make him feel better about his chances to get the job.
The biggest problem in Megumi’s life has always been money. With a useless gambling piece of shit father, Megumi got the taste of what greed could do to a family from a very early age, and the older he got, the more he was convinced that nothing good could come from living a life that strived around getting wealthy. If Megumi had been braver, he would have moved to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and lived there alone for the rest of his life. The problem is that he is too much of a coward, and also too indoctrinated by society's norms and its capitalistic claws to do that, which is why he is now running like a madman in the rain to get a job he does not want, to earn money he hates that he needs.
The few others that are forced to be outside in the horrible rain glances curiously at the running young man, something Megumi dearly tries to ignore. He is nearly there, only having to make his way around the giant building and find the main entrance. Rounding the corner, he nearly runs into an elderly man and quickly moves closer to the road to avoid a collision, forcing him a bit too close to the fancy ass cars parked along the sidewalk for his comfort. Megumi looks up at the building. The letters K.C.E above the glorious-looking entrance is his goal, and if he is going to have any luck today, he prays that there is going to be at least two minutes for him to catch his breath before heading inside the place. The fact that the whole building looks to be made of glass feels ominous enough as it is.
It takes only a second. One second to make his already shitty morning a lot shittier. One moment he is running, and the next he is on his back, the rain pattering over his face, his umbrella getting pulled away with the wind. Megumi does hear the car door opening, in the corner of his eye he sees the movement of a door swinging open right in front of him. He does not register more than that before he crashes right into it. He slips on the sidewalk and pain shoots through his ankle when it gets twisted under his weight. When he falls to the side, his head slams against the car’s roof, he catches a glimpse of the car’s interior before his back hits the pavement. One second. Megumi closes his eyes. Whoever is trying to remind him that he has to be humble better stop.
“What the hell?” A man speaks from inside the car, his voice deep, and annoyed. Megumi forces himself to sit up. His palm is bleeding, his head hurts, his elbow, everything.
“Fuck,” Megumi whispers.
A man steps out from the backseat of the car in question, swiftly getting an umbrella opened. The seemingly fancy coat and well-fitting suit pants does not match the man’s inked face or pink hair. At all. The man is frowning when he looks down at Megumi. Megumi stares back, ice-cold water running over his face.
“What are you doing?” the man asks. He is baffled, and definitely not concerned about the wet little rat that is Megumi, lying bleeding on the ground.
Megumi scrambles up on his feet. If this had happened any other day in Megumi’s life, he might have stammered, apologized, being utterly terrified that he had done some damage to the car. Now, this is not any other day in Megumi’s life. It is the worst day in his life, and it is not even 9 am.
“What does it look like?” Megumi sneers. “Don’t just swing your fucking door open, idiot.”
The pink-haired man raises his eyebrows. He is a big guy, a lot taller and broader than Megumi, and his overall aura is intimidating to say the least. Any other day, Megumi would have thought he is also devilishly handsome, the kind of way one would expect to see on the cover of a magazine for people interested in tattoos, not stepping out from the backseat of a car in the high-end part of the city.
This is however not something Megumi bothers to even notice. He leaves before the man gets the chance to say anything else, holds his aching wrist when he hurries inside the far too fancy building, prepared to make it through the worst interview in his life. Just to add a little sprinkle to the pile of shit that was this day.
*
The woman that comes to welcome Megumi to his interview at K.C. Enterprise nearly jolts when she finds him in the lobby. Her whole classic look of a spotless secretary might as well have been a joke. High heels, pencil skirt, fancy blouse, dark hair pulled in a tight knot, perfect manicure. Megumi’s sad attempt to wipe the worst of dirt and water off in the bathroom feels even more pathetic than it already had.
“Are you alright?” she asks. “You are Fushiguro, I presume?”
“Yes,” Megumi answers. “I slipped and fell right outside here. I came for an interview, and I sincerely apologize for making this impression. I understand if…”
He pauses. What is he supposed to suggest? Rescheduling the whole thing? He is never going to show his face here again once he leaves, no matter what. Now when he is inside the building, he cannot comprehend why he bothered to come in the first place. Marble floors, luxury dark wooden doors, spotless glass counters. Even the sink in the bathroom had been so fancy Megumi had only barely managed to figure out how to turn that shit on. This is not a place for him to be, let alone work.
“I am sorry,” Megumi finally says, seeing how the woman frowns. “Perhaps I should go.”
“No, it’s quite alright. You are just a little wet. I am more worried about your hand.”
Megumi hides his hand behind his back. The scraped-up skin is stinging badly, but at least he is not bleeding.
“It’s alright. Are you sure that I can…?”
“I am going to be honest, Fushiguro. We have other candidates that are going to come during the whole day, so I don’t think the chance to get a reschedule is likely.”
Megumi knits his eyebrows. This woman practically tells him he is already screwed but is kind enough to give him a fair chance to fuck it up a little more before leaving. Well. Since he made it this far, there really is no reason for him to turn to the door and head out, since she is willing to have this interview with him.
“If it is alright with you,” Megumi says.
“Come with me.”
The woman turns and walks to a nearby elevator. They get off on the fourteenth floor and make their way through a maze-like corridor, passing about a dozen wooden doors along the way. Megumi listens to the sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor and imagines coming back home and hiding under his blankets for the rest of the day when this is over.
The woman walks in through a door with a golden name sign. Shoko Ieiri. Inside the large office there is a tidy desk next to an enormous bookshelf stacked with binders in neat rows. On one of the walls hangs several diplomas and similar things proving this woman’s competence. The back wall is made of glass, floor to ceiling, giving a full view of the rainy morning and the building across the road. There are two armchairs standing close to the window and Shoko gestures for Megumi to sit. He expected them to sit by a desk. The stiffness in his body must be vibrating in the air when he walks over while discreetly brushing his hands over his ass.
Shoko sits cross-legged in front of him and reaches for a paper. Megumi’s resume, he soon realizes, the one he sent when applying for this and many other jobs in a desperate attempt to save himself from getting evicted. This was the only place where he actually got asked to come, which he has no idea how. Perhaps it had been a mistake. When glancing at the wall decorated with diplomas and certificates, his single paged little resume that tells about his previous job as a barista and volunteering at a local dog shelter feels like a fucking joke.
Megumi absentmindedly strokes his aching wrist. Shoko glances up from the paper. Now is perhaps the moment she realizes that there has been a mistake and she is struggling to make up some questions to ask him.
“I am going to be honest with you, Fushiguro, regarding this. I have noticed that it is always better to start this with honesty. While it is I that does the initial interview, it is the man you are going to be a secretary to that decides whether you get hired or not.”
“That makes sense,” Megumi says.
At least he thinks it does. It is not like it matters to him. He needs a job, and Shoko probably understands his desperation now when he agreed to this interview despite it all. If he is really lucky, perhaps it makes it seem that he is not a quitter, which could be to his advantage. Or he just seems pitiful, which is not far from the truth.
“Do you have any prior experience with this kind of work?” Shoko asks.
“Not by much.” Megumi is honestly not sure what this job is even supposed to be, other than being a secretary seemed a lot like just keeping track of meetings and other routines for some man that was busy enough not to write stuff down on his calendar. “But I am flexible. And I learn fast.”
She asks him a couple more questions. Megumi answers them half-heartedly. He wants to get out and Megumi has rarely felt more relieved when Shoko gets up from the chair. It could not have been long, fifteen minutes, tops. Megumi follows her to the door, shoulders slumping. When she turns to the opposite direction than he expects her to. He is fairly sure that is not the way to the elevator.
She takes him to the far end of the corridor and stops outside a pair of double doors, making it clear that there is something of importance on the other side. Or more like someone. She knocks on the door and there is a slight pause before a click is heard from the lock and she pushes the handle down. Some fancy locking mechanism, Megumi guesses.
“Wait here, please.” Shoko slips inside the room, leaving Megumi alone in the corridor.
Megumi frowns at the thought of being forced to show himself to some imposing, CEO type of guy in this state. He does not care about what a stranger would think of him, at least he tries to tell himself that, but is it really necessary to go through the whole procedure to introduce him personally in this case? It is not like Shoko is expecting him to get hired anyway.
But what if she did bring him along because he actually managed to make that good of an impression after all? Megumi brushes his hands over his clothes, tries his best to adjust them and strokes his fingers through his hair, combing it in place. He pauses in the middle of that motion. What was he even doing? He better not go and get his hopes up. Megumi drops his arms to his side with a resigned sigh, rolling his eyes at his own naivete. He doesn’t even want this job.
The door is soon opened again and Shoko steps out, holding it open for him.
“I told him about your unfortunate fall,” she tells Megumi. “Come inside.”
Megumi ignores the instinct telling him to flee and steps inside the large, overly luxurious room. The furniture could as well have been taken from a presidential office. There is a large desk in front of the wall made of glass. Even the black and golden floor lamp next to the desk looks like it’s worth more than everything Megumi has ever owned combined in his life. The chair by the desk is empty. Instead, Megumi spots a group of black, leather armchairs on top of a blood red carpet, and his heart makes a somersault in his chest before sinking all the way down to his feet.
The pink-haired man sits in one of the chairs with his foot resting on top of the opposite leg’s knee, a large hand resting lazily on top of his ankle. A phone in his other hand, and a pair of black-framed glasses are resting on the bridge of his nose. The man glances up at Megumi, very much giving the impression that he was barely planning to bother to greet him in the first place. Their eyes lock, and the man slowly lifts his head up from its slightly bowed position. Megumi’s throat is so tight he can barely breathe, cheeks heating up, his entire face tingling. The way the man’s lips curl at the corners when he takes his glasses off is immensely confusing, and deeply unsettling.
“What did you say his name was?” the man asks Shoko without taking his eyes from Megumi.
“Fushiguro Megumi, sir.”
“Hire him.”
*
The walk back to Shoko’s office feels like Megumi’s equivalent to the Israelites’ wilderness wandering. After the pink-haired man declared he wanted Megumi as his secretary, he returned his attention to his phone, and that was that. If Megumi had not been on the verge of passing out, he might have thought the sight of Shoko’s wide blown eyes would have been amusing.
“May I ask if you have met Mr. Ryomen before?” Shoko asks Megumi when they are back in her room.
“I ran into his car,” Megumi mumbles.
“Sorry?”
“Outside, right before coming in here. I was late because I overslept, so I was hurrying as much as I could. I had to run around some old man, and it was mostly my fault for running so close to the cars, but he opened the door so fast, and I ran right into it.” Megumi looks up at Shoko. Her bewildered expression mirrors his feelings perfectly. “I called him an idiot and ran inside. Then this happened.”
“You… called him an idiot?”
“I was so stressed about being late, and the rain, and then I was bleeding and- yes. I did.”
“Whatever happened, the job is yours. Congratulations.”
When Shoko starts talking about what Megumi is expected to do as Ryomen’s secretary, every word slides away from his brain like a slippery eel. How did this even happen? Should he take the job? Could he? Shoko leads him to the office and Megumi dumbly sits down in the armchair again when she points at it. She sits by her computer this time, her nails clacking on the keyboard when she enters a password. It is followed by fast clicks from the mouse, and in a matter of minutes Megumi is handed a pile of papers Shoko printed for him. She does all this while still talking about the job. How is she not seeing that she is trying to explain something to a young man whose brain is the equivalent of a bag of nuts?
“Fushiguro?” Megumi looks up from the papers in his hand. Shoko folds her arms over her chest. “I have two pieces of advice that I want you to remember. First and foremost, Ryomen is going to test you. Don’t forget that you are a secretary, not a thrall. If you can’t tell the difference, you are going to get eaten alive, and you will not last more than a week.”
“Okay,” Megumi says. That sounded more like a warning than advice. “And the second?”
“Don’t oversleep.”
*
The rain has let up some when Megumi steps outside the building with a plastic folder in his hand. He walks back home, head feeling very much like it had the first time he tried out alcohol. Slightly fuzzy, like everything around him moved a tad slower. Not necessarily a pleasant feeling, since Megumi very much prefers his mind to feel clear. When he steps inside his tiny studio apartment, he drops the folder on top of the small kitchen table.
It contains everything he needs to know about this employment of his, the salary, a copy of the contract he signed, everything. He signed it. Megumi must have been delirious. Thinking back, he can clearly see himself accepting the pen offered by Shoko and he can see himself sign the papers. Still, it feels like that memory has been implanted in his brain.
Had he even accepted the offer? Had he been offered in the first place, or was he told to take it? Megumi can’t remember and he still does not want this fucking job. That Ryomen-guy did not give a good impression whatsoever, Megumi was warned about how he was going to test him, why on earth would anyone accept that?
Not to mention the utter fool Megumi made out of himself by bolting into a god damn car and then sneering at what was now his new boss. How desperate can a person get, accepting a job after such a display? Megumi thumbs the corner of the folder, chewing his bottom lip until it gets stingy and sore. On the table is also the letter from the landlord that warned him about paying for his room by the end of this month, or else he would have to force Megumi out of there. That is how desperate he is.
Megumi arrives in far better time on his first day at his new job. His closet does not offer much that is proper to wear but, he tried his best to dig out something looking somewhat suitable. The worst is his shoes. Megumi can’t afford new ones, so he is forced to wear his well-worn brown shoes when stepping inside the building. It had not felt half as bad when he came for the interview, but now when he knows what kind of man he is working for, a new level of self-consciousness has been awoken in him.
Anxiety tingles in Megumi’s hands when he meets up with Shoko in the lobby. Her eyes flit down, judging what he is wearing, but she does not comment on it. Gracious of her. She leads him to the elevator.
“Have you had a good night’s sleep?” she asks him.
“No,” Megumi honestly answers. “I haven’t slept much at all.”
“Nervous?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Should I be?”
There is no telling what makes it feel like he can be honest with Shoko, but he keeps being that. If he can’t be honest with himself, he might as well be it with her. She does not seem to mind it.
“You will get used to it,” is all she says.
They step out of the elevator, and she takes him to the direction of Ryomen’s room. Megumi dreads the thought of being shown inside that room again, but Shoko thankfully stops by another door. It is the door closest to the large office that was Sukuna’s, and he spots a door with a golden name plate on it. Fushiguro Megumi. They sure work fast.
“This is where you will be working. But you will also follow Ryomen to various meetings as well, I am sure, so don’t expect to spend too much time in here.”
“Okay,” Megumi says. That sounds like a nightmare, but he doesn’t have it in him to care since he does not expect this to last long. Neither does Shoko, judging by the way she glances at him. Pitiful, almost. He can’t even be mad since he agrees with her. All he has to do is get the rent paid, look for a new job in the meantime, and get out of here the second he finds one.
“Ryomen usually arrives around nine. He prefers to have a cup of black coffee in the morning. Sometimes a bagel.”
Megumi frowns. Is he seriously going to be that kind of “secretary” that runs through traffic with a cup of coffee, darting past traffic, risking his life to keep his boss satisfied? This is starting to look like something taken from The Devil Wears Prada. His pink-haired devil is not going to get any kind of movie-like treatment.
“From where?” Megumi asks.
“Starbucks.”
“I hope he plans to stop by there before coming here then.”
Shoko raises her eyebrows, a hint of a smile ghosting over her otherwise stoic features. If Ryomen himself asked Megumi to get it, it might be a whole different thing, but Megumi is not going to run for any coffees or bagels because Ryomen expected to be served.
Shoko does not comment further on the topic of coffee. Instead, she lets Megumi inside his room and gives him the small tag that she used to unlock it. He has been given a username to log in on the computer as well, and Shoko taps the desk with her manicured nail when he is seated and logged in.
“This,” she says, “is where you can sit when you take your calls. Most of the communication goes through email nowadays, but if Ryomen can’t take a call, it gets forwarded to you, so you will get plenty either way. You are going to keep both eyes on his calendar, at all times. You have to know what his upcoming meetings are, and with whom.”
“Okay,” Megumi says.
“You will also have to learn which calls and meetings to dismiss.”
“How will I do that?”
“Be alert. Take notice of what type of meeting Ryomen normally attends. It won’t take long to figure it out, if you are sharp enough.”
Megumi nods. He can manage that much. If anything, he has always been considered smart, for whatever reason. One of his stronger character traits is that he is a listener, and when listening to people instead of focusing on getting the next chance to talk, you learn a lot about people.
When Megumi is left alone in his room, he sits by the desk that is supposedly his and slowly moves his eyes around the room. A large plant stands in a corner of the room, trying its best to illuminate the otherwise so empty space. If there is anything Megumi never expected, it is to have an office to call his. For all its worth, it is not going to last long.
Steps pass outside his door a few minutes after nine. It seems like his new boss has arrived. Megumi expects the steps to walk past his office, but they stop right outside his door, followed by a knock and then the door opens. Megumi turns his chair to face the pink-haired devil, brown eyes staring intensely at him. He holds a cup from Starbucks in his large, glove-clad hand. Black leather.
“You are here,” Ryomen says.
Megumi hopes it doesn’t show how badly he wishes to flee from the room. This was the man whose car he ran into, the man he sneered at like a cat, although he was the one being dumb enough to run without looking where he was going. The man that is now his boss.
“Shouldn’t I be?” Megumi asks, genuinely confused. Ryomen raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile ghosting past his lips.
“Has Shoko shown you everything you need?”
“I think so. I still have a lot to learn, but I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Ryomen lifts the cup to his lips, not taking his eyes from Megumi while he drinks. There is something heavy and ambivalent about his gaze. It looks like he might hurt him, like he wants to, yet nothing about his brown eyes is threatening.
“Fushiguro Megumi,” Ryomen muses after swallowing a big sip of coffee. He takes two steps inside the room and leans the back of his thighs against Megumi’s desk. Megumi discreetly pushes the chair back to keep some distance. “Why won’t you tell me a little about yourself?”
Megumi fists his hands on top of his thighs. There is nothing about himself he is comfortable sharing with others, and definitely not his new boss. There is no reason for Ryomen to even care about that. It’s a part of his strange game, all of it. Megumi straightens in his chair and relaxes his hands again.
“I don’t understand why that would be of any interest to you,” Megumi says.
“Hm.” Ryomen takes another sip. “You really are interesting.”
Megumi frowns. He says nothing, however, because his head turns blank when Ryomen puts his shiny, black suit shoe on a leg of Megumi’s chair and swiftly pulls him closer. Megumi presses himself harder against the chair’s back rest when Ryomen leans forward, bringing their faces close together. Megumi can smell his cologne, deep and expensive, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke and coffee.
“You have enchanted me, Megumi. I hope you are prepared to face the consequences.”
Megumi has never in his life been more thankful for his naturally stoic expression as he is in that moment. It is not hard to figure out that this is the test Shoko was talking about, and if he wants to last, he is going to decide how he is going to proceed with this fast as a lightning bolt.
If Ryomen hired Megumi because he got interested after being barked at like that, he might as well plan to wreck Megumi, using this employment as some kind of revenge. Megumi can almost taste how much it gets this man off to use his power and authority to make people lick the sole of his feet. Megumi raises his chin. If that is Ryomen’s plan, he is not going to get any of that from Megumi.
“Fushiguro,” Megumi says.
Ryomen curiously raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“It’s Fushiguro for you.”
“And here I was going to offer you to call me Sukuna.”
“I will do that if that is what you prefer,” Megumi says.
“No. You will address me as sir.” Sukuna slides the back of his glove clad finger over Megumi’s throat, cupping his chin, tilting his head more. The smell of leather tickles his nose. Megumi grits his teeth when his pulse races. “Understood?”
Every cell in his body tells him to jerk his head away, shove Sukuna in the chest, take the rest of the coffee and splash it over his face and get the hell out of here. The eviction note flashes before his eyes, and the words of Shoko’s warning echoes in his head. This is a test. Sukuna is testing him. Heat prickles in his palms at that thought. Megumi generally dislikes people, but goddess be damned, he absolutely detests the rich.
“As you wish,” Megumi answers, having enough self-control to keep his voice flat.
“Good,” Sukuna coos. Megumi remains still, feigning being unaffected as he raises his eyebrows and lets that be his answer.
Sukuna lets him go, and he leaves. After the door is shut behind him, Megumi buries his face in his hands before grabbing his hair and pulling it so hard his scalp stings.
The smell of cologne and coffee lingers in the room for the rest of the day.
*
Megumi manages the first week. There is no telling how. Mostly luck, he would like to guess, and just a little dash of his ability to adapt. He does not see Sukuna much, which is a huge relief. Most of the time, his boss is busy with calls, meetings, conferences, lunches. Megumi has no idea what he actually does during those times, nor does he care. He is making sure to always have Sukuna’s day memorized when he arrives in the morning, and so far that has been good enough.
Headaches have been a very loyal companion the past few days. Being alert and tense for a whole day takes its toll, and the second he relaxes even a little, the throbbing comes rushing. Each day, Megumi stumbled home after work in the late afternoon, showered and then crashed in bed. Even if he would have had the money, grocery shopping was definitely not prioritized right now, even less so was cooking. He was lucky enough there was free fruit and coffee served at this fancy new job of his, which is what he is about to fetch now.
When he is walking back to his room, the door to Sukuna’s office opens just in time for them to stand face to face in the corridor. Megumi lingers outside his door when he notices the look Sukuna gives him. The kind that told him he wanted to talk.
“Fushiguro.” Sukuna glances down at the apple and banana in Megumi’s hand. That makes him feel self-conscious without knowing why. He has been told it is okay to take as much fruit as he wanted.
“Yes?” Megumi says. Reminding himself how he is supposed to address Sukuna, he recalcitrantly adds: “Sir.”
Sukuna shuts the door to his office and takes the few steps needed to approach Megumi. Sukuna is unusually dressed down this afternoon, wearing black suit pants and suspenders on top of a light gray shirt. No suit jacket or vest, like he usually wears.
“Say, Fushiguro. Do you own a suit?” The way he eyes Megumi makes him inwardly squirm.
“Why?” Megumi asks, hoping to win himself time, futile as it is.
“Do you have clothing that is more suitable for this place than the ones you are wearing?” Sukuna makes a sweeping motion with his hand. “I can tell that you prioritize being comfortable rather than proper, but you should get yourself some new attire. This won’t do.”
Megumi looks down on himself with a lump in his throat. His pants are black and rather simple, and at least it’s not jeans. The knitted shirt he picked out this morning is also black, but hardly fancy in any way. Truth to be told, he has been trying to hide out in his room as much as he can to conceal his lack of proper clothing. He understands where Sukuna is coming from, but he can barely afford a T-shirt, let alone a damn suit. He needs to get paid, and that is still two weeks away. Megumi tries to come up with a lie. Could he tell him he outgrew the ones he had? Hardly.
“I… Yes. I will.”
“You don’t have any money,” Sukuna deadpans, blunt as a spoon. It is not even a question, really. Megumi’s stomach churn and he already knows there is no need for him to deny it. He is standing there with fruit in his hand, prepared to hide in his room and eat, while the whole office is out to eat lunch at different restaurants right about now.
When Megumi does not respond, Sukuna clicks his tongue.
“When is my next meeting?”
“In half an hour,” Megumi says after quickly checking the time.
“With?”
“You are to have a lunch with Satoru Go-“
“Oh heavens, no. Cancel it.”
Megumi blinks. Cancel a meeting half an hour before it took place? Sukuna has not asked him to do anything like that during the whole week. Megumi clears his throat.
“What should I tell them?”
“I don’t know, make something up. Tell them I died for all I care. When you are done with that, come outside. I’ll wait for you by the car.”
Megumi’s head spins with confusion when he watches Sukuna head back inside his office. Megumi steps inside his room. Making the call to cancel Sukuna’s meeting with Satoru goes smoother than he had expected it to. Satoru’s assistant Kiyotaka tells Megumi in a lightly trembling voice that he will let Satoru know about the unfortunate cancelation and that they will be in touch about rescheduling the meeting. Megumi has no idea who Satoru Gojo is, but perhaps that is for the best.
Sukuna is leaning against his black car while smoking a cigarette when Megumi has made his way outside, after having a minor meltdown in his office. Sukuna has folded the collar of his coat up to protect his neck from the autumn winds. Megumi shivers when the cold bites his face and neck, his own jacket far too flimsy to warm him properly.
“Get in,” Sukuna says and nods to the passenger seat.
Megumi gladly does what he is told to get away from the chill. When seated, he sweeps his eyes over the interior of the car. He has never been seated in such a modern piece of machinery before. It is for sure one of those cars that does not make a sound when it is turned on.
Right at that moment, he does not understand a thing. He has never gone anywhere with Sukuna before. Sukuna lets his glove-clad hand slide over the hood when he rounds the car. When he has taken his place in the driver’s seat, Megumi quickly puts his seatbelt on. As expected, the car barely makes a sound when Sukuna presses the button that says start and Megumi is childishly wondering where the key is.
“I thought you had a driver,” Megumi says when Sukuna has brought them out on the road, and they smoothly make their way through the city’s traffic. Sukuna had stepped out from the back seat of the car that terrible day, and Megumi has several times spotted Sukuna’s driver from his window, standing and waiting to open the back door for Sukuna as he came to get his ride to whatever meeting he was attending next.
“I do,” Sukuna says. “But I like driving.”
The smell of Sukuna’s cologne quickly fills the small space. Megumi is not prone to feeling claustrophobic, but he can’t wait to get out of there. He gazes up at the tall buildings and the storefront to various luxurious boutiques, trying to distract himself from the tugging and clawing in his stomach. Being alone with Sukuna is a dangerous thing.
Sukuna parks the car outside what Megumi thinks might be a restaurant. The entrance is elegant, and Sukuna takes them there. When inside, the first thing Megumi notices is the warmth, and then the smell. He can’t tell what it is he is picking up, but his body reacts with his stomach growling, and he hopes Sukuna does not hear it.
Megumi silently follows when Sukuna tells a well-dressed waiter that he has a reservation in his name, and they are led to the far end of the room. Megumi glances at the silky clothes on top of the tables, chandeliers and well-dressed guests. He does not belong here. Arriving at a secluded booth in the corner of the restaurant, Sukuna pulls the gloves off his hands, then the coat, and hands it to the waiter. Megumi hesitantly takes his jacket off as well. When the waiter has taken their things and walks away, Megumi sits down in front of Sukuna. Sukuna looks so at ease it further increases Megumi’s feeling of being an alien.
They are handed a paper when the waiter comes back, and instead of leaving them to make their choice, he starts talking about today's special and it suddenly feels like Megumi does not even understand the language. There are three things to choose from the menu. He has never seen anything like it. The very few visits to restaurants he has made, there had been tons of options, beef, chicken, salmon, salads. This is definitely some fine dining stuff. The prices are not even stated. It must be terribly expensive in that case.
Megumi looks up from the paper, at Sukuna, at the waiter, down at the paper again when he catches up that it is his turn to order. The only thing he understands what it even is, is the saffron risotto.
“I’d like the risotto. Please.”
Megumi watches the waiter as he leaves to tell the kitchen their order. When he looks back at Sukuna, brown eyes are staring intensely at him. Megumi swallows. Sukuna knows he is not going to be able to pay for this and it is not like Sukuna can’t afford getting Megumi lunch; he is probably rich enough to not understand what a strange thing this is for Megumi. But it feels wrong.
The waiter arrives with water. Megumi takes the glass to take a small sip to soothe his itching throat. Sukuna keeps staring at him. Megumi desperately needs to say something but has no idea what to say to this man.
“Your meeting with-“ he begins, but Sukuna waves it off.
“Don’t mind that. It is far more important that you get something acceptable to wear, now that you are my assistant.”
“I thought I was a secretary.”
Sukuna makes an uninterested hum. “Is there any difference?”
Megumi is not sure if there is, so he doesn’t answer. It hardly would have made any difference either way.
Instead of talking, he takes a closer look at Sukuna’s face. It must be unusual to get facial tattoos, and one really has to wonder how much of an odd-bird Sukuna looks like at his fancy meetings with other rich, pompous men. So far, Megumi has seen only those tattoos on him, but takes for granted there are more hiding under his clothes, because who got their face inked and nothing else? He can’t imagine it.
He glances down at Sukuna’s chest, and his arms. Even with a shirt on, it is very apparent he is hard-muscled and there is no doubt he must spend quite some time working out. Megumi looks out the window instead. In the corner of his eye, it looks like Sukuna is smiling.
The food arrives. At first, Megumi is slightly taken aback by the size of the portion. It does not look like there is enough to fill him, and he must have hardly half the room in his stomach in comparison to a big guy like Sukuna. Sukuna picks up his silverware with grace, cuts pieces of his food, gathering it on top of his fork. Upside down. Megumi picks up his fork, turns it in his hand. He knows that the fancy way of eating is holding like that, but it feels strange to hold it like that. Clumsy.
Megumi turns the fork again. Sukuna is well aware of what he brought with him here, so he is going to have to live with Megumi eating like poor people do. Megumi takes the first bite of his food, and blinks. The flavors are like an explosion on his taste buds, close to being overwhelming. He chews slowly, eyes flitting up to Sukuna. He is completely unfazed, collects more food on his upside-down fork and puts it in his mouth. If he likes the taste, it does not show, while Megumi is struggling not to wolf down the rest of his portion in a matter of seconds. Sukuna glances up at Megumi while chewing.
“Do you like it?” he asks after swallowing.
“Yes,” Megumi says. “It is... really good. I have never eaten risotto before.”
The thought that it was not going to be enough food to fill him is proven dead wrong. When he has eaten every single piece on his plate, he is pleasantly full and warm on the inside. It is without a doubt the tastiest food Megumi has ever eaten. Megumi looks up when he hears a snap of fingers. Sukuna gestures to the waiter, who hurries away to fetch their clothes. It is not before they are back in the car again Megumi thinks about the fact he never saw Sukuna pay for their food.
The only time Megumi has ever bought a suit was in a thrift store, and he happened to be lucky enough to find one that sort of fit him. The boutique Sukuna takes him to reeks of luxuriousness, dark furniture but lit up well enough to display all of the well-made suits and dresses. Megumi would never dare to touch anything in there, but he lingers for a second in front of a mannequin dressed in a black, silky dress with a provoking slit on both sides. He does not understand what the material is made out of, but it must feel like being dressed in water.
“Come on,” Sukuna says, bringing Megumi back to reality again.
Sukuna brings Megumi further inside the store, walking past the cashier and all the way to a room in the back of the boutique. The door has no sign, but it is apparent it is not made for customers to walk inside. Megumi nervously looks at the well-dressed cashier when Sukuna opens the door, but she does not react at all.
The room in the back is large, and also well lit. There are tons of suits in there as well, and also rolls with fabric. Megumi is taken to a room that must be some kind of crafting room, where a very queer-coded man dressed in a gray vest and suit pants and a measuring tape resting around his neck is working on a suit. A frown is plastered on his face when he looks up from his work, soon melting with recognition when he spots Sukuna before he quickly flits his large eyes over Megumi’s figure, blinking, like he has never seen anything like what is in front of him in his entire life. Perhaps he hasn't, to be fair. Megumi shrinks.
“Ryomen,” the man says. “What gives me the honor?”
“I need your help to get suitable clothes for this one. Can you do it right away?”
Megumi grits his teeth. This one. What is that even supposed to mean? The man walks closer to Megumi, now looking closely at his face. Intrigued, curious, perhaps even fascinated. Megumi swallows thickly, heat starting to tickle in his palms. The man gives Sukuna a glance, arching an eyebrow. Sukuna clicks his tongue at that.
“Just do your thing, Fukaya,” Sukuna says. “I’ll be back later.”
“Take your time,” the man, Fukaya apparently, thrills.
And just like that, Sukuna is gone. Megumi shifts where he is standing, kneading his hands together when he sees him disappear out the door. This is starting to feel like it could be the worst day in his life, even worse than the day of his interview. Fukaya strolls around Megumi, slow, further increasing the pace of his already trembling, poor heart’s beats.
“Darling, get rid of that jacket.” Fukaya gestures vaguely at Megumi to follow along with him, which he does while peeling his jacket off. “What is your name, pretty one?”
“Fushiguro Megumi,” Megumi answers.
“Don’t fret. You are going to leave this place feeling like a new person.”
“I am not interested in feeling like anything else than I am,” Megumi says.
Fukaya shoots him a curious glance over his shoulder. Megumi gets to leave his jacket on a blood-red armchair before stepping up on a small pedestal, and Fukaya starts to measure him. Megumi must be dreaming. This kind of thing does not happen in reality, it simply doesn't.
“This is the first time Ryomen has come in here accompanied by someone,” Fukaya says while he measures Megumi’s shoulders. The fast way he moves around him and scribbles down numbers in a small notebook speaks for his experience.
“I am his secretary,” Megumi says. “I started last week. He thought my clothes were not suitable for the office.”
“And he is perfectly correct, darling.” Fukaya does not sound judgmental, at least Megumi does not think so, but it might be because of the overall chirpy tone of his voice.
The atmosphere is not as tense as Megumi expected it to be. Fukaya gives a calm impression, which is strange since the gestures and movements are fast and almost snappy. When the measuring is done, Fukaya takes Megumi to look at different fabrics. Megumi has no opinion whatsoever regarding the colors, so he barely listens and nods when Fukaya comes with suggestions. Or it might not even be suggestions, rather explanations.
When they are done, Fukaya accompanies Megumi back to the store. Sukuna is sitting in one of the fancy chairs in the store with a bored expression, holding his phone, and has two glossy bags from different stores on the floor in front of him. He picks them up and gets on his feet when they walk over.
“That sure took you a while,” Sukuna says, annoyance sipping through his voice.
“The measurements are done, and I will get to work right away,” Fukaya tells him, completely ignoring the sour tone.
“Have them sent to my office when it is done.”
Sukuna lazily signals to Megumi to come along with two fingers and walk to the door again. Megumi hesitantly takes a step towards him but pauses and turns to Fukaya.
“Thank you,” Megumi says.
“Don’t mention it darling. Take care now.”
*
Sitting in the car again, Megumi has a hard time not glancing at Sukuna. They have not been away for much more than an hour and a half, but Megumi has been shown a lot more of Sukuna’s world than he has ever thought he would see. This really is the life he leads. Luxurious food on a daily basis, waltzing in to disturb people during their workday and demanding their errands to be finished ahead of everyone else’s without even thanking them properly afterwards.
Part of him wants to ask about this, but a bigger part believes it is better to stay silent. If Sukuna had not been prepared to pay for this for Megumi, he should not have brought him for lunch and shopping. Something about it itches, however. People doing him favors, especially favors he did not ask for, is among the worst things he can think of, and he most certainly does not want things from this man.
Sukuna does not speak until they have parked outside yet another boutique. Sukuna stretches to the backseat, gray shirt hugging tight over his chest, revealing the shape of large pecs, and Megumi quickly looks away when he catches himself staring. The glossy bags are placed in his lap. Clothes, he notices. Quite a lot of them, too.
“Wear these until your suits arrive,” Sukuna says. “It will take some time for them to be finished, even if Fukaya is a fast worker.”
Megumi peers down the bags before looking up at Sukuna with a frown and a strange tugging in the pit of his stomach. Suits. Suits. Not just one.
“You are going to decide what I’m wearing?” Megumi asks. He is unsure what his tone sounds like, but probably not as annoyed as he would have liked.
“Yes,” Sukuna flatly answers. “I am. As long as you work in my office, you can’t go around wearing that.”
“You don’t even know my size.”
“Not that hard to figure it out. It was harder with the shoes, so that’s what we are going to do next. Come on. Bring the clothes with you. They can pick something that matches.”
Megumi unbuckles his seatbelt after Sukuna has stepped out of the car. This time, he won’t even protest. Even he understands that he can’t match whatever Sukuna has bought him with the ones he is wearing right now.
*
Megumi has another two bags in his hands when he arrives back at the office that afternoon, containing two different pairs of shoes. He puts them all on the desk and ends up staring at them for a long while, trying to wrap his head around what is happening, what he is allowing to happen. Megumi picks out a shirt from one of the bags at random and holds it up in front of him. The size looks about right, the fabric has a very exclusive feeling to it. It is unfortunately white, Megumi has never been fond of bright colors, but undoubtedly something that is going to make it easier for him to blend in here. Especially if he wears a vest on top of it, which he picks from the bag next. At least it’s dark gray.
The door opens. Megumi knows it is Sukuna before seeing him, because he is the only one that comes there save for Shoko and she does at least have the decency to knock before stepping inside.
“Do you mind not barging into my room?” Megumi says. He puts the items back into the bags. “What if I’m on the phone?”
“It is my clients you talk with either way,” Sukuna says. He eyes the bags, something in his expression shifting. “Have you tried them out?”
“No.”
“Get going then.”
“Now? Why would I do that?”
“I want to see them on you.”
“You’ll have to wait for tomorrow, then.”
Sukuna raises an eyebrow. He closes the door behind him and walks closer, a motion that makes Megumi’s breath hitch.
“You are being awfully ungrateful,” Sukuna says, his voice dropping an octave. He is trying to make himself seem imposing. Megumi is not buying it.
“I did not ask you to get me anything,” Megumi answers.
He moves away from Sukuna, keeping the distance between them. It hardly matters, because Sukuna follows along, closing the gap. Megumi bumps against the window and Sukuna puts his hand against the wall next to Megumi, caging him in with his large frame. Megumi glares up when Sukuna tilts Megumi’s chin up with two fingertips.
There is something annoyed seeping in Sukuna’s demeanor now, but also an amused glint that remains under the surface. That strange mix is always present when Sukuna looks at him.
“Have you forgotten how you are supposed to address me?”
Sukuna’s eyes are the ones of a predator, lidded and hungry. Megumi quickly wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, Sukuna’s eyes flitting down when he does. He is still resting his fingertips under Megumi’s chin while patiently waiting for him to answer.
“No,” Megumi grits out. “Sir.”
“Good. Now, are you going to thank me for my generosity?”
Megumi scowls, pulse beating hard in his ears. This man is far worse than he could ever believe. Sukuna must know that Megumi can’t afford to risk losing his job, but Megumi also reminds himself that Sukuna got enchanted by him the first day they met. Enchanted by someone sneering at him like a wild cat. It strikes Megumi then, looking into Sukuna’s eyes. This is a test. It is, however, a different kind of test than Shoko was warning him about. This is not about the job. This is about Sukuna, and his want to tame a wild, little animal, and it is not hard to figure out why. He has never had to do that before.
Megumi keeps his gaze steady, forcing himself not to look away, or squirm when Sukuna leans in even closer, hunching down so that their eyes are level. The heat pooling in the pit of his stomach slowly sinks deeper.
“While I like your indomitable spirit, I suggest you don’t push my limits too far.”
“This is not about pushing limits,” Megumi says. “Or being brave. Don’t expect me to be thankful for you taking the liberty of deciding what clothes I am going to wear. I am not grateful for this. I am your secretary. You pay me to do my work, and being pretty is not one of my duties, as far as I can recall.”
Sukuna’s eyebrows rise some. He moves his thumb so it rests under Megumi’s lips, Megumi does not even blink when Sukuna pinches his chin, making his lips part and showing his bottom row of teeth. A long, silent moment passes before Sukuna straightens and lets him go again. Megumi slowly breathes out, knees weak and unreliable.
“I will have you on your knees, Fushiguro.”
Megumi does not know if he means that figuratively speaking, nor does he care. He is far too busy trying to make his heart calm down, and the throbbing between his legs to stop.
“Is that a threat?”
“That is a promise.”
*
Megumi arrives in his small studio apartment with the bags containing his new work attire late that night. He drops all of them on the floor next to his unmade bed and staggers straight to the bathroom to take his daily shower. After hurriedly rinsing his body off, he slides his fingers over his swollen folds.
“Fuck,” Megumi breathes.
He has been aching the whole afternoon, his cunt throbbing and begging to be touched. Megumi yanks the showerhead down, gets down on the floor and leans against the cool wall. He quickly finds the right angle and whines when the stream of water drums almost a little too hard over his clit, legs jerking and jolting.
Sukuna’s smell, his fingers under his chin, his large, imposing frame looming over Megumi, cornering him in the office. Megumi closes his eyes, mouth agape, soft moans already echoing in the small bathroom. It turns over to a fantasy where Sukuna’s hand tightens over Megumi’s throat, his other hand sliding inside Megumi’s clothes, groping his thighs when they are alone in the elevator. His broad fingers pushing deep inside, the smirk on his face when feeling how wet he is, Megumi’s shame mixing with flaming arousal. Sukuna fucking Megumi in the back of the car, and then bent over his desk at the office, his clothes crumbled by his knees, his hands pressed over his mouth to silence his voice.
“H-haah, fuck, f-fuck… I’m gonna c-come, please sir, harder, harder,” Megumi mumbles, the different fantasies flickering on the inside of his eyelids. He settles with the one of him on his knees with Sukuna’s hands in his hair, spit and drool pouring from his mouth when Sukuna is not showing him the slightest mercy when thrusting down Megumi’s throat, harder, harder, Megumi on the verge of passing out from being choked by his thick cock.
Megumi comes with a yelp, so hard his legs go numb, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. Afterwards, he feels nauseous and weak, still trembling when climbing up on his feet and finishing his shower. He grabs the sink with both hands after stepping out and wrapping himself with a towel. He glares at his mirror image.
“Get a fucking grip,” Megumi mutters.
He eats the apple and banana he brought home, brushes his teeth and then crawls into bed. He masturbates again before finally being able to fall asleep, and no matter how much he tries to force himself not to think about Sukuna while doing it, he simply can’t help himself and feels even worse afterwards. It is like he is granting Sukuna a part of a victory he is never going to give him.