Normalize answering "why do u ship them" questions with "because i felt like it" instead of writing out 200 pages of reasons why you ship it like u r begging for approval. Or give a nonsense answer.
"Why do you ship this??"
On the night of the full moon I dreamt of a talking rabbit who hopped onto my shoulder and whispered in my ear that I should ship these specific characters and I obeyed without question.
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oh, oh, you and sukuna's tape got leaked. The media didn't even know that you two dated, nevertheless broke up. how will you survive this attack on your image, not to mention how will whoever leaked the tape survive sukuna after they hurt you?
pairing: f1driver!sukuna x popstar!reader
content: angst, implied smut, leaked sex tape trope, language, tension, trauma reactions, reader has a stage name, yearning, mentions of homophobia?
TAGLIST IS CLOSED
The set was bustling with people despite the fact that it was supposed to be a private shoot..
Sukuna grimaced at all the lights, sitting in one of those fancy chairs that directors always used.
His ass barely fit into it and he’s pretty sure that if he leaned a tad bit more the chair would crumble apart.
“Okay, people. In ten minutes, we start shooting!” Someone called out.
He doesn’t even know what he’s doing here. You invited him to the set, sure, but he couldn’t help but feel like a squatting duck.
Everybody knew about the tape here. They all shot him side glances and murmured about the fact that he was probably the one who leaked it.
Which he wasn’t. He already had a list of people who were suspects, but he hadn’t told Shiu to look into anybody.
“Hey, Sukuna.” Gojo drawled, nudging his side. Ryomen groaned, rolling his eyes as he sat up.
“You back with your girl yet?” Satoru teased, following him as the pink haired man tried to walk away from the conversation.
“Shut the fuck up, Gojo.” Sukuna snarled, pausing beside a trailer.
The white haired man giggled, actually giggled, in front of his face. “What a shame. But don’t worry, we’ll be sleeping at her place.”
Sukuna hummed at the reminder. That blue eyed buffoon wasn’t wrong. You had invited him and his crew to sleep at your mansion, no matter how awkward it would be.
He screwed his eyes shut at the thought of the condom box in his bag, praying to anybody listening that his thoughts didn’t go to that.
“Yeah, I know. You’ve reminded me like ten times since we landed.” Sukuna grumbled.
He really regretted bringing Gojo with him.
“So, you’re driving for her?” Gojo asked, a smug grin on his lips.
Sukuna glared at him, giving a tired nod before snapping at him. “Don’t you have something else to do? Literally anything else?”
“I second that.” A rough yet delicate voice called out.
Both guys turned their heads, coming face to face with a black haired woman with a crew of like three people behind her.
Sukuna raised an eyebrow, turning back to Gojo with a curious look.
The white haired man was practically red, whether it be from awkwardness or embarrassment.
“Oh, great, you’re here.” Satoru grumbled.
“I’m Utahime.” She finally introduced herself, shaking Sukuna’s hand. “I’m your girl’s publicist. And before you say anything, I was on vacation with my partner when everything went down.”
Sukuna couldn’t help the amused smirk on his face, finally seeing Satoru Gojo be embarrassed.
“What’s this with you two?” Ryomen gestured between the two of them.
Satoru cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his jacket. “We dated.”
“Dating is an overstatement.” Utahime cut in. “This asshat was just a NASCAR driver when we met.”
“She broke up with me.” Gojo finally admitted. “I’ll…You know what? I’ll let you two talk.” He murmured, pushing the camera away from him as he sped away.
“What’s with the camera?” Utahime looked up at Sukuna’s words.
“Our popstar loves to do a ‘making of’ vlog of every music video she’s done.”
At that, you finally appeared, a bathrobe draped over your body. The pink wig you were was finally styled, blown out to highlight your face.
You approached Sukuna with an awkward smile. “Hey.” You mumbled softly.
Sukuna paused, eyes falling on you. His breath stuttered, and he could feel his hands moisten as he glanced up at your hair. “Hi.” He stuttered out.
You blinked up at him, feeling your heart constrict.
After months of being apart, here he was, like nothing had happened.
This was what you needed. Everybody around you was freaking out about the tape, but Ryomen tethered you down, like a rock in water. You knew he was probably ten times more stressed than anybody else, but he didn’t let you see that.
That’s why you loved him. He was always there for you.
You cleared your throat, pushing that thought away. “Ready to ride?”
Sukuna raised his eyebrows, nodding abruptly. “Yeah, whenever you want, princess.”
You blushed at that, walking away with Utahime and the crew.
Sukuna kept staring as you walked away, lip between his teeth.
“Fuck.” He quietly cursed under his breath, rubbing his nose in frustration.
“You okay man?” Suguru called out, standing beside him and crossing his arms.
Ryomen nodded, sighing. “I’m screwed, man. I don’t know what to do.” He admitted gruffly. “She’s just…no matter what I do, we just end up gravitating back to each other.”
Suguru nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Then stop pulling away. Embrace it. She sure has.”
“It’s not that easy. I…I broke up with her because I didn’t want to hurt her. I let things get to my head. I doubted myself and I didn’t want her to doubt me too.” Sukuna scoffed at his own words, biting the inside of his cheek.
“That’s not a decision you make for her.” Geto noted. “Look, the lives we live are tough. We got eyes on us. At all times. We can’t be the wild spirits we so wish.” Geto took a sip of his drink, holding it out to Sukuna. “You don’t think it’s hard to be dating the most popular F1 driver? Even more that nobody knows we’re not dating?” Suguru frowned.
“Satoru’s entire popularity stands on his fan girls and his talent. If they know he’s dating me, he’ll lose like half his fan base.”
Sukuna stayed quiet at that, pondering. “I guess you’re right. Me and her, we didn’t have anything to lose when we were together. You do.”
Suguru shrugged. “It’s nothing man, I’ve had to talk plenty of singers out of self sabotage, it’s my signature.”
Ryomen smirked at that, patting the man’s shoulder. “Thanks, I’ll…I’ll try with her again, I guess. Hopefully she’ll take me back. This whole…situation is fucked up, but that doesn’t mean that no good can come out of it.”
Suguru chuckled, clapping his hands. “That’s the spirit, man. Now go out there, and be careful with the car, it’s a rental.”
Sukuna did a captain salute and walked back to you.
“So, we’re filming the music video right now. We have two race car drivers here, and I’ll be the passenger princess.” You announced to the camera, sighing in relief as Utahime excused the crew.
“You were so right, girl, I get you now.” Utahime whispered, glancing at the approaching Sukuna. You chuckled at her bluntness, carefully walking with the high heels. “He has a certain charm.”
“Ladies.” Sukuna called out.
Utahime snickered like a teenager, holding the pitch black helmet that he was supposed to wear.
You looked up at him, a polite smile on your lips before your eyes fell back on a retreating Geto.
“All good? You were talking with Suguru for a while.” You asked with a frown, grabbing the helmet from Utahime.
Sukuna pursed his lips, glancing at where you just were. “Oh, that. Yeah, everything’s peachy.”
Utahime hummed. “The director’s by the car, Sukuna, he’ll instruct you on the shots and everything else.”
Ryomen nodded, looking at the long street that was reserved for the shoot. Right, this was for a music video.
“Great, thank you.” He said, grabbing the helmet and putting it on.
You stayed beside him, the black lace dress you wore accentuating everything perfectly but the heels were horrifying.
You told Utahime that stilettos weren’t your style, but they were a necessity for the whole sexy look.
You were afraid to twist an ankle, but you had to admit that the shoes were divine.
Sukuna slid the visor up the helmet so he could see better. He peered down at your feet, raising an eyebrow.
“I thought you were more of a sneakers type of girl.” He taunted slightly.
You hummed, raising an eyebrow. “I changed my mind. Not that you would know that.” You deadpanned.
Sukuna frowned, huffing as he approached you and scooped you up.
You let out a soft yelp, holding onto his shoulder. “What are you doing!”
Sukuna smiled under the helmet, carrying you to the car. “What kind of guest star would I be if I let the popstar hurt herself cause of some dumb heels?”
You pouted softly, crossing your arms. “I can walk in heels, you know?”
Sukune let out a noise of disagreement. “Last time I saw you walk in heels, you stabbed me.”
“I didn’t stab you, I stepped on you.”
“It’s a stabbing, it penetrated skin.” Sukune retorted.
You couldn’t help the laughter that escaped your lips.
Sukuna’s eyes lit up at that, your laughter feeling like a shot of adrenaline to his body.
.
.
.
It was the last take before the end of the shoot.
The two of you sat in the black Lamborghini, quietly waiting for the queue to go.
The shoot had been thrilling. It reminded you of your first date with Sukuna. The wind in your hair, his hand on your lap, the speed he was going at. It all eased your nerves. It made you forget about the leak, the paparazzi, reality.
Just you and Sukuna, together again.
But you knew that you couldn’t be so close to him again, not after the break up.
His finger tapped against the car wheel, head tipped back. “…I’d…I'd like to apologize for everything, princess.” He finally spoke up.
You froze, glancing at him. “I don’t want to talk about this here.” You said dryly.
Ryomen nodded. “I figured. That’s…That’s why I’d like to ask you out? Maybe we can go eat at a restaurant in Manhattan or something. My treat.”
You pouted, mulling over the proposal. “…Fine, we can talk then.”
You did your best to hide your reaction, but your heart was doing backflips in your chest.
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He’s built like a Greek statue but dresses like a sleep-deprived college student. Baggy hoodie, sweatpants, messy hair, and glasses slipping down his nose—no one at first glance realizes he could bench-press a car.
He doesn’t know how to handle compliments.
“Gojo, your arms are huge.”
“Huh? Oh—uh—thanks? I guess genetics…?”
He says that while literally flexing unintentionally because he’s nervous.
He got into working out for stress relief. Exams and cursed energy research fried his brain, so he started hitting the gym at 2 a.m. to “reboot his neurons.” It worked—now he’s both a genius and a menace with biceps that could crush apples.
His glasses always slide down when he’s focused. He pushes them up with one finger, forearm flexing without meaning to. He never notices the effect it has on people.
He’s shy about his body. Despite being ridiculously fit, he’ll change shirts only after making sure everyone’s gone. The idea of ppl seeing him shirtless makes him short-circuit.
He infodumps when he’s nervous.
“You know muscle recovery is actually a cellular process where—“
He tries to impress you with facts, then realizes he’s rambling and gets flustered.
When you touch his arm or lean on him, he freezes. You can practically hear the Windows error sound in his head before he stammers out something like, “Uh… comfortable, right? Good… muscle… cushion.”
He smells faintly of coffee, laundry detergent, and that warm “been studying too long but still hot” scent. His hoodies are soft and always too big on you—but he secretly loves when you steal them.
His hoodies are criminally tight around his arms now. Every time he stretches, the fabric rides up and his shirt lifts just enough to show that faint V-line he pretends not to know he has. He’s in denial about it.
He insists his muscles are “functional,” not aesthetic.
“I just need good posture for reading…”
Bro, your reading posture looks like you’re posing for a fitness magazine.
He’s got perfect posture until you hug him. Then he forgets how his limbs work. His arms hover awkwardly before wrapping around you in the gentlest, most careful hold—like he’s afraid to crush you with all that strength.
He overthinks everything.
“Did I smile too much? Did I breathe weird? Should I have said mitochondria?”
Then he hides in his lab notes for an hour to recover.
He wears cologne that he swears is “barely noticeable,” but when you stand near him, it’s this clean, fresh, slightly spicy scent that sticks in your hair. He blushes when you notice.
“You… you noticed that? It’s just soap. Expensive soap.”
He’s a menace in group projects. Because he’s the one carrying everyone—literally andintellectually. He’s the type to lift the entire stack of books in one hand and correct the equations with the other.
He’s the definition of “gentle giant energy.” He’ll open jars, move heavy boxes, fix your laptop, and then look away the second you say “thank you,” mumbling something like, “It’s nothing— don’t worry about it,”
He has a terrible poker face. If you flirt with him, he short-circuits. The tips of his ears go red immediately. Once, you called him “pretty,” and he spent five minutes pretending to clean his glasses just so you wouldn’t see him smiling.”
His handwriting’s ridiculously neat. He takes pride in it too. Once, you doodled a heart in his notes, and he refused to erase it. You asked him about it, and he just went, “Uh, data preservation.”
He tries to look tough once in a while. Rolls up his sleeves, crosses his arms, leans on the desk like he’s mysterious. It lasts three seconds before he sneezes or drops his pen.
He’s got that one piece of tech he babies. Probably a tablet or laptop with a hundred stickers on it.
He’s a secret romantic. He overthinks text messages, rehearses good morning replies, and literally Googles “best compliments that don’t sound weird
A/n: I’m tired of hoes portraying Nerdjo like he’s a twink, like god forbid Satoru can’t be jacked and nerdy- 😭
𐔌 my favourite ships have been called everything from "mlm and wlw solidarity" to "hetslop" to "erasing rep" (with no characters sexuality confirmed) to "that's a lesbian and a gay man" ﹒ ୨୧
