your eyes stray towards the ‘he’ in question, who’s kneeling on the large bed in the center of the room.

Suna Rintarou, one of Inarizaki’s top stars. known for doing anything that pays well, which basically means...anything goes. those who have particular fetishes could probably spend a whole day and more on his page. 

it’s true, the man has been filming for nearly four hours now, but that’s because he—for some insane reason (probably money)—had elected to shoot for two films in the same day. 

your gaze flits over the scene in front of you. 

the actress lying on her stomach in front of him must be uncomfortable, trussed up like a fucking turkey. red ropes criss cross all over her body, circling her breasts, cinching her waist, binding her arms behind her back and wrists to her ankles. dried cum stains her body, her juices forming dark patches on the sheets beneath her. there’s a plug shoved in her ass, preventing his previous load from leaking out of her puckered hole. she’s blindfolded too, a ball gag secured in her mouth, drool dripping from the corners of her mouth.

your job isn’t the toughest in the industry. no, that position is reserved for the women like her, who have to film four to five times a week, getting stuffed with dick for hours on end and who have to fake it most of the time.

Suna looks tired, pushing his hair out of his eyes, looking down at the body in front of him with a slightly bored look. his dick is an angry red, sensitive from fucking his colleague in different positions for so long. it’s not easy to keep it going for hours, and most actors you know would be popping pills or taking a break by now. 

you feel a little bad for him.

at least, until he shifts and you find yourself staring right into his golden, narrowed eyes and at the corner of his lips tugging up into a small grin. he tilts his head. and the director, who had been talking to him, turns and raises her eyebrow, hooking her finger at you in a come hither gesture.

damn it.

the things you do for your job.

it’s how you find yourself kneeling right in front of the two actors as the shoot starts again, just behind the cameraman so you’re not in the shot, the top few buttons of your blouse popped open, leaning forward slightly with your arms squeezed together, cleavage on full display. 

it’s humiliating, objectifying. 

you’ve heard of film crew members across the industry that have had to step in and help out on occasion, but you never thought the day would come when you would have to. you regret wearing this bra today, a push-up bra that has your tits all but spilling out for people to see now. you thank the heavens that the cameraman’s more focused on his job than you, because if he just turned and looked down...

a scowl crosses your face but Suna pays no attention to it, only locks his gaze on your breasts as he pushes his cock back into the actress’s cunt. she lets out a loud, over-exaggerated moan that you know from your experience is fake.

“shit...” he breathes, and you swear he cranes his neck even more to get a better look down your shirt. “that’s fucking hot...”

embarrassment floods you.

he pushes the woman’s legs apart, gripping her wrists as he spreads her. it allows him to completely bottom out again and again, obscene squelching noises growing louder the harder he fucks into her. this position gives you a generous glimpse of his body in action, the way his muscles ripple when he thrusts, sweat glistening on his toned abdomen, thighs flexing with every pump of his hips. you haven’t worked on projects with him much...at all, really, only filling in for your co-worker who called out sick today. 

you’re regretting not calling out too.

because against your better judgement, the sight of him up close does something to you. you thought you had become immune, having had to see people like Aran, Kita, the twins fucking every week, but the warmth that pools in your core says otherwise. your thighs squeeze together unconsciously. 

he doesn’t miss that.

“fucking whore.” 

heat rises to your cheeks when you realize he’s looking at you now, smirk curling up on his lips even as his cock is pumping in and out of someone else’s pussy. you flinch when he slaps her ass, squeezing it so hard it leaves the imprints of his fingers on it when he lifts his hand. and then he does it again. and again and again until it’s red and tears darken the actress’s blindfold and he’s cursing under his breath at the feeling of her cunt clenching around him.

it doesn’t slip your attention that he doesn’t once look down at her.

“mmf-” the girl under him cries out, unable to say anything except nod furiously and make lewd noises, “mhm- mmh-”

you’re startled when Suna shoves her head facedown into the mattress, muffling her sounds, leaning forward and slamming his hips so hard you can hear his balls slapping against her. his hand planted in the mattress clenches, like he’s itching to grab something. your breath hitches in your throat when you see the sheer lust in his eyes when he glances up from your tits again. 

“you like that? like it when i wreck you like this?” a breathless laugh slips out of him, golden hues glinting with amusement at the sight of your chest rising and falling faster. “shit- s’like you’re my own personal fuck toy.”

his fingers twitch again. like he’s itching to grab you.

your lips part, breaths coming out unsteady, the flames in your belly burning brighter. the entire room smells like sex, like cum and sweat and the sharp, distinct smell of Suna’s cologne. he’s so close you can feel the heat rolling off him, can hear every pant and grunt. 

“gonna cum all over those fucking tits.” his colleague’s writhing under him, moaning like...well, like the adult film star that she is. he slides a hand under her, squeezing one of her tits, though it’s a beat too late.

unfortunately, his next words are all but unsalvageable, what with the way his hand is on his co-star’s head, still keeping her face buried in the mattress. 

“looking at me like such a needy slut.”

“CUT!”

everything stops. 

Suna pauses mid-thrust and the actress stops squirming, relaxing when he finally lets her head up and she can suck in a breath, turning her face to the side.

the director’s staring at him incredulously. “the fuck are those lines, Suna?”

“oh.” he blinks. and then pulls out with a pop and sits back, propping himself on his hands and shrugging. his long legs kick out lazily, sprawling before him and you stare at his still-hard, heavy cock bobbing between them. “my bad.”

the director drags her hands over her face. you can’t help but feel a little mortified, and subtly start redoing your buttons, straightening your clothes and rising to your feet to go do your actual job. trying to ignore the fact that Suna fucking Rintarou just fucked up his lines because of you.

you feel the weight of his stare on you the whole time you’re grabbing towels and water bottles. the whole time you’re undoing the actress’s ball gag and blindfold and tipping water into her mouth. her skin has angry red marks over where the rope digs into your skin, and you chew on the inside of your cheek at the fact that it’s still not over for her yet. 

she chuckles up at your guilty look. “don’t worry about it. you know...he fucks better when he’s imagining i’m you.”

you choke on air.

Suna doesn’t look offended. if anything, he looks amused.

“is that so.” he finally drawls, cocking his head. 

you swallow a shriek when long fingers wrap around your wrist, the hand that’s offering him a water bottle. 

“then for the good of the company...” he yanks you forward and leans in uncomfortably close, lips almost brushing your cheek and you’re suddenly aware of just how naked he is. his cock twitches between his legs and your mouth waters. he looks infuriatingly smug.

“how about considering a change of jobs?”