💻: name's zenith! but you can just call me az/zen. 18+ yrs. infp/intp. proud nb (demi) aroace.
🤍: currently only writing for jjk
"cause im not too busy, im just still dizzy."
[old strawpage]. just letting all yall know that english aint my first language AND most of the fics im gonna publish is me projecting (?) prepare to be mischaracterized 😈 in a loser way. i plan exercise the way i write, meaning itll probably unconventional or weird-paced or wtv shit i wanna throw. i appreciate those who like to standby 😋
[CONST | new strawpage]. this place is a safe place. no hateful speech, no biased statements, or anything problematic. now, im not too knowledgable on a lot of things, but i got a good grasp whats morally good. i really hate making people or myself uncomfortable, so treat this space as you will your home.
NAVIGATION.
[CONST|rules & masterlist] please, tell me your ideas or request for some fics! the list is growing, and i hope to keep creating more pieces 😋
[CONST|beloved anons/moots] i love you little guys who js wanna chat. its very sweet to see cute messages in my inbox and it makes me really happy. come and say wtv! keeps the mtoivation/energy going.
[CONST|personal tags] miscellaneous tags i will use to label posts and reblogs. especially my yapping sesh(s) 😁
reaches out for you pathetically zz-en--enn-nnzenn-zen...
HOLD MY HAND VALE !!!!!! 🤲🤲🤲
this is old but sorry I haven't been on in a bit vale ml :3, same goes to my readers. a lot of bad stuff had piled up but I'm okay now! but I'm on hiatus cause I have other goals I want to reach >< (I'm improving my art and hopefully my writing, too. but mostly destroying my commitment issues with sticking to one hobby 😞) so I decided to move my writing aside for now!
but I still stalk you vale 😋😋😋 love you and to anyone who's reading this!!
Sukuna was never the clingy type. Every girlfriend he’d had before chased him. He wasn’t the kind to call or text ten times a day—hell, sometimes not even once. Detached. Aloof. The classic nonchalant boyfriend. And he liked it that way.
Until he met you—his equal. Or, if we’re being honest, his superior in emotional detachment.
You weren’t just low-maintenance. You were barely-there maintenance. A ghost with a phone plan. How someone could be in a relationship and not text for an entire week? Sukuna didn’t know whether to be impressed or mildly concerned.
You’d told him more than once, “I just don’t have the energy to talk all the time.” And it wasn’t a passive-aggressive dig, it was just… a fact. Facetiming 24/7? Constant texting? Contact every five minutes to say absolutely nothing? No thanks. You had a life. And more importantly, you had a limited social battery that you weren’t about to waste on a conversation about what you had for lunch—unless it was really good.
It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You just didn’t see the point in forcing communication for the sake of it. When something actually happened, you'd tell him. You’d call. You’d text. If the world was ending, you’d let him know. Probably.
To you, that was how relationships worked. You didn’t love him any less just because you weren’t glued to your phone. If anything, you were doing him a favor by not flooding his notifications. You’d seen what some people did in relationships—24/7 access, reporting live from their kitchen. You’d rather not become that.
And besides, you knew yourself. You knew what happened when you got tired and overstimulated. You got snappy, said things like “Why are you breathing so loud?” and suddenly there’s a fight over a tone that didn’t exist. So no, you were doing the mature thing by keeping your distance. For everyone’s safety.
What you needed was someone who respected your space, but knew when to push—gently. Someone who didn’t take your quiet as coldness. Sukuna, for all his big talk and bigger ego, was starting to realize he might not be that someone… or worse, that he cared more than he thought.
You and Sukuna first crossed paths at a loud, crowded bar during a group night out. He was there with his friends. You were with yours.
You didn’t say much—just smiled politely, laughed at a few jokes, sipped your drink, and left early without a trace. Quiet. Low-key. Unbothered.
And for some reason, that stuck with him.
It wasn’t even anything dramatic. You didn’t flirt, didn’t throw glances his way. Honestly, it felt like you barely noticed he was there. Like the noise of the bar, the people, even him—none of it seemed to register.
Your eyes were distant. Detached. Not cold, exactly, but...unreadable. Like you were tuned into a different frequency the rest of the room couldn’t access. And Sukuna—who was used to being the center of attention—had no idea why he noticed you so much, and why you didn’t seem to care that he existed.
He never asked for your number. Didn’t even speak to you that night.
But after that? He started showing up at those same friend gatherings more often than he’d like to admit. Not for the drinks. Not for the people.
Just to see if you would be there.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. Halfway through one of those meetups, he casually brought your name up. Real smooth.
“So... your friend. Y/N, right? She doesn’t come out often?”
One of your friends snorted, already a little tipsy. “Ahhh, Y/N? Yeah, she’s quiet. That time we were at the club together? Didn’t see her for like four months before.”
Another chimed in, laughing. “She’s hilarious though. I heard a bunch of guys tried to get her number, but she just... works from home and sleeps all day. Like, aggressively avoids being perceived.”
The first friend nodded. “Back in high school, there was this super popular guy who liked her. She ghosted him in real life. Just full-on ignored him and didn’t even realize he was crying until someone pointed it out.”
The whole group burst into laughter. Sukuna blinked. You've made a popular guy cry... by accident?
Sukuna leaned back on the worn-out couch, beer bottle in hand, watching your friends lose it over the story like it was some iconic tale of legend. Which, apparently, it was.
He didn’t even realize he’d zoned out until someone waved a hand in front of his face.
“You good?” one of the guys asked. “Yeah,” Sukuna muttered. “Just thinking.”
Which was a lie. He didn’t think. Not like this. Definitely not about some girl he’d only seen once. But here he was, piecing together your entire personality based off half-drunk friend chatter like he was a detective on a case no one assigned him.
She sleeps. She works. She ignores people into tears.
Sukuna tilted the bottle to his lips and stared blankly at the wall. Why the hell was that so attractive?
He’d been with needy girls. Loud girls. Girls who texted “???” if he didn’t reply in thirty minutes. Girls who demanded constant validation, presence, connection. He was used to being the one pulling away.
And now… He was the one showing up to events, hoping to catch a glimpse of you like some kind of side character.
It was humiliating.
He didn’t even know what your voice sounded like beyond a polite laugh. He didn’t know what your job was. Or your hobbies. Did you even have hobbies? Or were you one of those people who simply... existed?
And yet, he was in a group chat called “Friday Night Drinks 🍻” and actually replying to it. Voluntarily.
This was rock bottom.
“Y/N’s cool though,” one of your friends added, completely unaware of the identity crisis unfolding in his head. “She’s just hard to read. Not mean or anything, just... in her own world, you know?”
In her own world. Yeah. That sounded about right.
Sukuna smirked to himself. “Sounds like she needs someone to drag her out of it,” he muttered.
The group just laughed and kept drinking, not realizing that was the moment Sukuna decided he was going to make you notice him.
And not in a subtle way.
He wasn’t desperate. He was just... curious. Painfully, violently curious. Which, in his case, might as well be the same thing.
--------
A week later, you showed up again.
Same group. Same vibe. Some random bar with dim lighting and overpriced drinks.
You walked in late, like someone who didn't owe the world punctuality. Your hair was half-up, half-down—pitch black and the outfit in question was just a long, tight, black dress. Nothing flashy. Just clean lines and fabric that fit too well. He had never seen something so normal be so sexy.
It didn’t make sense. Sukuna turned back to his drink and muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.
Across from him, one of your friends noticed. “Oh hey, Y/N’s here.”
You walked in, nodded at a few friends, and sat down like you hadn’t just months. You ordered a drink, checked your phone once, then stared off like the wall was playing a movie only you could see.
So, he did what any self-respecting man with dignity and a very fragile ego would do: he waited five full minutes before casually sliding into the seat next to you.
“Didn’t think you were real for a second,” he said.
You blinked. Slowly. Turned your head just slightly.
“Oh,” you said. Then a pause. “You’re... friends with Satoru and them?”
Not even fake recognition. Just stating facts like a very underpaid receptionist.
Sukuna smiled, the kind of smile that said, I’m confused but I want more of this suffering.
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
You turned back to your drink like he hadn’t just walked over here, full of unearned confidence and possibly cologne.
He’d once had a girl cry because he forgot to like her Instagram story, and now he was sitting next to a woman who couldn’t be bothered to pretend to know who he was.
“You’re hard to get a hold of,” he tried again.
You glanced sideways. “Not really. I just don’t answer if I don’t feel like it.”
No shame. Just the emotional equivalent of a blank screen.
“That’s brutal.”
“It’s honest.”
“You ghost all your friends too?”
“If I’m tired, yeah.”
“That’s it?”
“...Should there be more?”
You were so damn dry, it felt like talking to someone whose phone was stuck on Do Not Disturb—except it was you in real life.
“Right. So what do you do when you’re not ghosting humanity?”
“Work. Sleep. Eat.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
“I’m living the dream.”
You said it so flatly that it nearly knocked the sarcasm out of him.
He leaned back, watching you sip your drink like he was studying a wild animal he wasn’t allowed to pet. He studied your face. Still unreadable.
Sukuna rubbed the back of his neck, and for the first time in a long time, didn’t know what to say next.
You turned back to your drink.
“...You’re not going to ask for my number, are you?” you asked casually.
He blinked. “Was thinking about it.”
You hummed. “Don’t bother if you’re expecting good morning texts.”
“Oh, so you do give your number out.”
“Occasionally. To people who can handle the silence.”
He exhaled through a laugh, suddenly unsure if he was flirting or being screened for a psychological experiment.
You looked over again, one brow raised. “Still want it?”
Sukuna grinned, absolutely down bad already.
“Yeah,” he said. “I really, really do.”
-----
Day 1
Sukuna waited two hours before texting you. Not because he was playing it cool—he actually just stared at your contact name for that long, wondering if “Y/N 😐” was appropriate or too accurate.
[ Sukuna | 8:42 PM ]
hey, it’s me
from the bar. the tall one. tattoos.
He stared at the screen. Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
He went through five stages of grief before your reply finally came.
[ Y/N | 8:47 PM ]
ok
That was it. Just ok.
You can kill him, and he’d say thank you.
Day 3
Sukuna, being bold (read: delusional), texted again.
[ Sukuna | 2:13 PM ]
you ever wanna get coffee or is texting already too much interaction for you
[ Y/N | 2:56 PM ]
depends
do i have to sit and talk to you for a full hour or can i just get coffee and leave
He read it five times. Was she joking? Was this her flirting? Was this a cry for help??
[ Sukuna | 2:57 PM ]
that was cold
i think i liked it
[ Y/N | 3:10 PM ]
ok then get coffee
i don’t mind sitting i just don’t like people who chew loud
[ Sukuna | 3:11 PM ]
…do i look like a loud chewer to you??
[ Y/N | 3:13 PM ]
we’ll see
This was, by far, the most energy you’d given him, and he celebrated like he just won the lottery.
Date Day
You showed up exactly on time. Not early. Not fashionably late. Just… on time. Dressed in all black again, minimal effort but somehow looking like you were cast in an expensive indie film.
He opened the café door for you.
You nodded. “Thanks.” That was it.
You ordered a black coffee. No sugar, no milk. Just like your personality. He got some sweet sugary thing and decided not to comment out of fear you’d actually judge him out loud.
Ten minutes in, you said nothing.
Fifteen minutes in, still nothing.
Sukuna, finally: “Do you always just… sit in silence?”
You sipped your coffee. “Only when there’s nothing important to say.”
He blinked. “You don’t believe in small talk?”
You made a face. “It’s like diet conversation. Empty calories.”
He nearly dropped his drink. “Jesus Christ.”
You shrugged. “What?”
He leaned back and stared at you.
“You’re either going to ruin my life or accidentally fix it.”
You stirred your coffee, unfazed. “50/50 chance. Either way, not my problem.”
Day 5
He sent a voice note.
Which was already wildly out of character, but he couldn’t help it—texting wasn’t working and the silence from you was making him feral.
He tried to sound casual. Cool. Unbothered.
But he played it back twelve times before hitting send.
[Voice Note – 0:07]
“Hey. I saw this ugly painting today that reminded me of you. Thought that was romantic. Hope your coffee sucked without me.”
No response.
Then—
[ Y/N | 6:03 PM ]
i didn’t get coffee today
but if i did, it would’ve tasted fine
you’re not the milk or the sugar
He laid down on the floor. Just. Flat. Face to the hardwood.
Day 6
He invited you to a small art exhibit.
You agreed.
Sort of.
[ Y/N | 1:32 PM ]
only if you don’t talk through the whole thing
He kept his mouth shut the entire time.
Except once, when you stopped in front of a painting and tilted your head.
“Looks like something you’d like,” he said.
You glanced at him. “Because it’s moody and boring?”
“No. Because it’s sharp. Kind of brutal. But it still makes you stop and stare.”
You didn’t say anything.
But he saw your lip twitch like you were trying very hard not to smile.
Day 10
He didn’t text.
You didn’t either.
He paced.
Did pushups.
Almost posted a thirst trap but deleted it last second because what if you thought it was about you?
It was about you.
Everything is.
Day 18
He texts you at 2AM.
He’s been staring at the ceiling for hours, trying to figure out what your favorite color is like it’s a government secret.
[ Sukuna | 2:01 AM ]
be honest. what color do you think you are?
You reply instantly.
[ Y/N | 2:02 AM ]
dark green. like the kind that looks black until you shine a light on it.
He stares at that.
Then stares at the ceiling again.
Then texts back:
[ Sukuna | 2:04 AM ]
yeah
i think i’m completely fucked
theres too many fics of sukuna frowning. where is the grin, where is the smile, where is his batshit laughter? where is the insanity that comes in the sukuna deluxe package i bought??
warning; bit of fíngering (male receiving), satoru takes it up the ass 🙌, gn!reader (no mention of ur own dick), dacryphilia, edging the poor guy, mention of overstimulation
i think we all have that point in life where we're just plain ol' tired and we wanna see someone squirm.
so i bring you satoru gojo who chokes out sobs as youve got him bent over the kitchen counter first thing when you get home, one hand on his back and two fingers in his puckering hole.
you can be incredibly ruthless when you center all pleasure on him. this isnt even about him.
"h—harder" youve got him weeping, trying to push back against your hand.
satoru doesnt know where you even get the strength, but the strongest cant even lift himself up when he's under you.
"you take what i give you." a harsh smack lands on his ass, leaving him empty and needy as he can only cry while you stare at his tear-stained cheeks, cock in hand.
its rare to see you so cold and demanding, but fuck he loves it. he wants to lose his control, his ability to even think straight. wants you to fuck him so hard all six eyes cant see straight.
and you do.
satoru's cheek is shoved right against the bedsheet, drool painting the soft cloth underneath and all he could do was keep his ass up while you take him straight to poundtown.
the soft buzzing from the two pink bullet vibrators that you strapped onto his nipples adds ambience to the room, alongside the unabashed choked moans that come out his swollen, glossy pink lips.
your gaze is hardened, laser-focused on the way his face contorts, wanting to see what other noises and expressions you can fish right out of him. he tries to hide it from you cause youve got him feeling shy.
something he regrets because youre pulling out of him, throwing him around unapologetically to face the large 3-way mirror so he gets to watch himself lose it in all angles.
youve got his chin in hand, pulling him up so his back rests against your chest before fucking him again. he's whining. he doesnt even know what to do with his hands, too embarrassed to even touch his own dick.
"shit, dont look away. keep looking at yourself. i want you to see what im looking at, 'toru."
not a minute later being pressed against you, fucking his prostate so deliciously, his head is begging to be thrown back, but all eyes stare at his reflection.
"c-cum— cum! i wanna cum.." he begs, pleads, no shame in his tone. he wants it. he wants it so fucking bad.
but you had other plans in mind.
just what would the strongest sorceror do if he was told to hold on for a moment? keep himself in restrain?
"hold it." you demand. you dont make it easier for him either. "dont cum yet. jerk yourself off."
you havent seen a grown man cry so loudly before. he's whining, like a brat. telling you that he couldnt hold it in, to have pity on him. he can cry all he wants, claim that youre torturing him, but he hasnt said your safe word yet.
"no! no no no— please, i— please!"
"jerk. yourself. off." every word was emphasized with a harsh thrust from your hips and your hand getting tighter around his bite-painted neck.
in hesitation and slight defiance, he wraps his hand around his pulsating cock, twitching at being told what to do.
satoru couldnt think or see clearly anymore. his vision was blurred with tears and head full of thoughts about wanting to cum all over the bed already. it's all he can think about whole his mouth runs like a broken mixtape, blabbering about cumming; that he's been very good.
youve broken him. broken his train of sensical thought and the control over his own damn body, cause the moment you muttered the word, "cum." into his ear; youve got him travelling through the fucking universe.
you brought him to a place where even his six eyes couldnt reach.
his head is thrown back before you force him to face you so you can relish in watching what it felt like to be a deity, ruling over him.
thick sprays of cum shot out of his weeping cock. he came so hard he painted the mirror, bucking his hips as you took over his hand to force out whatever's left.
satoru blacks out for a moment, panting and catching his breath. his body is weak against yours, blue eyes sealed shut in tears as you thought of a brilliant idea.
suguru the typa yearner who cries in bed at the thought of you!
suguru geto may just be the reigning king of yearning when it comes to you. whether it's highschool or curse user geto, the thought of you linger in his mind for far too long and far too much.
he wants to be with you. to take care of you. dont you get it?
youre so pretty, he could stare at you all day. the both of you would be going out and holding hands by now if you weren't so dumb! hasnt he made his love for you known already?
suguru would jump on his bed, cuddle up to his soft sheets and giggle at the memory of you simply laughing at his joke earlier while kicking his feet like a lovesick highschool girl.
he cant tell you just yet. just play into this cute little fantasy, wont you?
lean on him, call for him, depend on him.
but youre too cool for that, arent you?
you can take care of yourself. you can take out a hundred curses with ease! you can even bandage yourself up when he's right there next to you with hello kitty bandaids in case you ever get a tiny scratch on a mission.
why cant you let him brush your hair and paint your nails without it having to be a platonic hangout? youre just rubbing it in his face now arent you.
everything was going quite okay until he remembered what truly set him off the most today.
you saved him from a curse.
now i understand that this man was one of the strongest special grade sorcerors of his time. which is why suguru completely believed his life purpose to keep you safe was over.
the thought alone made tears prick his eyes. he was like a child; kicking his feet and gripping at his newly combed, perfect hair. it was supposed to be you in danger, and for him to save. he feels selfish, he knows, but he cant help it.
youre too sweet. suguru just wants to keep you in his pocket forever.
he whines and looks up at his ceiling, violet eyes all marbled because of his tears. he wants to hold you close and keep you safe. you wouldnt have to worry about anything. just come to him. stay with him.
all he can do now is hold unto his pillow and imagine its you in his arms.
gojo being annoying wasnt unusual. he was clingy and loud, busy screaming his affection for you into the world's ears, much to many's dismay. you thought it was cute, how clearly love-struck this man was for you. you very much have his attention.
but this was going a little too far.
not that you fully minded him, but you really did need to catch some sleep.
"babe? baby." satoru would coo as he sneaks inside your bedroom, gently closing your door.
you still didnt live together — despite his offers, promising it'll be more comfortable for you to live with him — so he would always barge in your apartment. youve gotten used to it by now.
"baaaaaby." he creeps up beside your bed in which you were facing. your eyes were closed and at rest, but he knew you were awake by the tell-tale sign of your furrowed brows and slight scowl on your lips while his sharp blue eyes doubles as a nightlight unto your face. "baby, come on, i have to show you something."
but you only turned to the other side, slurring something that could be made out to be a soft and gentle 'kill yourself'.
he giggles, hovering over you. "but you'll be lonely." his hands caress your arms to coax you into turning back towards him. "come on, after the surprise you can indulge in a gojo-cuddle special!"
finally, you open your eyes. satoru mentally fist bumps at his victory, thinking you'll relent. although, he does not see the irritation in your eyes.
you finally sit up from your comfortable mattress — which calls out to you in need, by the way — and the strongest sorceror alive was not prepared for what had hit him.
your hands tiredly grab at his collar, gripping it tight once you got a good hold of him before you smash your lips unto his in a swift motion.
he almost chokes at this action, unable to think in time. what was he supposed to do? you were never so sudden and full of fire before. it's the first time he's experiencing something like this in your relationship, but he isnt complaining.
satoru couldnt even smile because you ate up his glossy lips. his hands stammered to grab at your sides, which failed as you smacked them away. you were not merciful. you figured the strongest wouldnt need to take a breather for more than a minute when locked in a french kiss, no?
you would pull him closer with your unwavering hold while leaning down with your back to push him against your bedside floor.
it was when his brows creased further, his whimpers spilling from the open mouthed kiss, and his hands at war for needing more or needing air that you finally spared him and let him go.
satoru took a big gulp of air after his back had made contact with the rug on your floor. his pale face decorated with a red complexion, his lips all plump from your heated kiss, and an obvious tent in the core of his pants.
he liked this version of you. maybe a bit too much, he quickly sat up for more with hearts in his bright blue eyes, only for them to shatter apart to see you all huddled up in your blanket again, taking up most of the space in the damn bed.
"good night, satoru." you mewl out breathlessly with a peaceful and satisfied look on your pretty pink face.
he whines and groans, laying back on your floor like a big man child who was ready to throw a tantrum.. but maybe not with that in his pants.
you monster. you blue-balled him so hard that there was tear-stains in his gorgeous white lashes.
now all he could do now is relieve himself and leave you a present on the side of your bed. you wouldnt mind, would you?
