vorachii

[vorachii]

stop omg all of ur headers r so beautiful ur whole acc is so pretty wtf

TYSMSMSM 😖 i just love making headers

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤㅤ ⸺ RSB.

pairing: yuki x gn!reader

cw: none.

synopsis: ㅤmakeshift card game with Yuki, after Gojo's sealing, in a safehouse.

The room smelled faintly of tatami and sea salt, an oddly soothing mix of dry straw and ocean-worn driftwood, like memory clinging to forgotten walls. Dust hung in the air like pollen, shimmering slightly in the late afternoon light that filtered through the open sliding doors. The breeze stirred the curtains, thin, sun-bleached things that swayed with all the hesitance of a ghost passing through.

Somewhere beyond the curtain of trees outside, the ocean murmured. You couldn’t see it, but you knew it was there, the low, rhythmic hush of waves folding into themselves just beneath the cicadas’ relentless hum. The land between here and the shoreline was thick with green, overgrown and heavy with summer, the kind of place that time forgot on purpose. The outpost had clearly been abandoned for years, maybe decades. Once a training ground, now little more than a stubborn skeleton clinging to routine: cracked floorboards groaned beneath even the lightest step, paper screens sagged in their frames, and a naked lightbulb above the table flickered with a lazy sort of defiance, only stable if you kicked the baseboard. Twice.

Still. It was quiet. And that, these days, was a luxury you didn’t take for granted.

Inside, you and Yuki sat cross-legged on tatami mats that had long since lost their shape. The fabric of your pants stuck to your legs, clinging with sweat and the weight of summer. A low wooden table stood between you, its surface cluttered with the strange evolution of a card game that had spiraled well past logic, Yuki named it "Reverse sweep bomb", the rules you couldn't even begin to comprehend.

A half-deck of mismatched playing cards was scattered across the table, interspersed with colorful bottle caps, a rusted washer, her so-called “damage counter”, and, most concerningly, a paper talisman with faded ink reading “Do Not Touch” that Yuki had immediately declared a wild card.

“You just made that rule up,” you said, pointing accusingly at the talisman she’d just thrown down like it was Exodia itself.

“Correction,” she replied, elbow on the table, chin propped lazily in her hand. Her eyes gleamed with smug amusement. “I enhanced the game. Don’t be mad just because you’re losing.”

“You literally just said that card means I owe you a favor,” you countered, leaning forward. “How does that even fit into the game?”

“It’s symbolic,” she said with a casual shrug. “Life debts. Emotional stakes. Adds flavor.”

You narrowed your eyes, unimpressed. “You’ve spent way too much time alone.”

She grinned, sharp and smug, with a playful edge. “That’s rich coming from you.”

The wind gusted again, light but persistent, and one of your cards flipped face-up with a gentle flutter. You smacked it back down with a quiet curse and shifted where you sat, adjusting the sandbag cushion beneath you. The bag had once been part of the training equipment; now it was your makeshift seat, lumpy and sun-warmed.

A cicada shrieked from somewhere in the rafters, buzzing like a shorted wire, then went abruptly silent. The quiet that followed was oddly deep, like the room was holding its breath. You let it sit between you, the stillness. Let it settle into your bones.

The air was hot. The kind of heat that pressed down on your shoulders and sank its teeth into the back of your neck. The sky outside looked pale and endless, washed-out blue on the edge of wilting, like even the heavens were exhausted.

You scratched absently at the sweat-damp edge of your collar. “Is this really what we’re doing with our time right now?” You were a sorcerer, trained in battles and cursed energy manipulation, but somehow you were still getting your ass handed to you in this ridiculous, made-up game.

“Yup,” Yuki said without even glancing up.

“We could be training. Scouting. Doing anything useful.”

This time, she met your gaze. Her expression was steady, too calm to be careless. “And that’s exactly why we’re playing Reverse Sweep Bomb right now.”

You stared at her. “So your coping mechanism is... half-baked card games.”

“And snacks,” she said, popping the last sour candy into her mouth with a grin. The wrapper crinkled between her fingers before she tossed it into the corner pile with impressive aim.

You scoffed, but you didn’t argue. The truth was: this beat the hell out of what waited for you outside. Out there, it was just mission briefings and hastily-drawn plans, tension wound so tight it might snap any second. Ever since Gojo’s sealing, the entire jujutsu world had shifted on its axis. Nobody said it outright, but you could feel it, like a crack in the foundation of something ancient, one tremor away from total collapse.

In here, though, things felt... still.

“I forget sometimes that you're, like... an actual sorcercer.” you muttered after a while, flicking a bottle cap across the table just to feel it bounce. “It’s weird seeing you waste time playing pretend card games.”

Yuki snorted. “You say that like you aren’t a sorcerer, too.”

“Yeah, but we're sort of on the brink of a war."

“Which is exactly why you and I need a break more than anyone,” she said, waving a hand like she was brushing off the weight of the world. “Sometimes I just wanna play cards and talk shit.”

“…Talk shit to who? You’re always solo.”

“That’s why I drag you out here,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You talk back. That’s rare.”

You blinked. “So I’m your entertainment.”

“My grounding wire,” she corrected smoothly, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Also, you bring the best snacks.”

“I brought one bag of chips, and you ate the whole thing.”

“You’re enabling me. That’s love.”

You froze for a split second, then she laughed, and your heart kicked back into gear.

“Platonic love,” she added quickly, teasing. “Relax.”

You rolled your eyes and picked at a card corner. “You’re lucky you’re funny.”

“I’m also hot.”

You coughed. “Debatable.”

She gasped, hand to her heart. “Wow. You wound me again. I bring light and laughter to your existence and this is how you repay me?”

You chuckled, low and surprised, and leaned back until your hands pressed against the sun-warmed floorboards. The grain of the wood was splintery and uneven, but it felt solid beneath your palms. The heat pressed in, heavy and slow, but there was something comforting about it. Like the day was forcing you to stop. To breathe.

“…Do you think we’ll make it through all this?” The words slipped out before you could catch them. Barely more than a whisper, spoken to the room as much as to her.

Yuki didn’t answer right away.

She stretched her legs with a soft groan, bones popping in her hips and knees, and stared at the card pile like it held a more profound truth than it did. Then, casually, she threw another card down.

“I think we’ll get through it the way we always do,” she said at last. “Bit of luck. Bit of stubbornness. Maybe some cheating.”

You glanced at her, dry. “You cheat at everything.”

“Exactly,” she said, with a lazy grin. “Why stop now?”

She looked so easy in that moment. Not soft, but loose, like someone who had made peace with the fact that the ground might fall out beneath her any second and decided to dance anyway. It wasn’t the power that made her dangerous. Not the technique. Not the title.

It was the way she never stopped acting like she had time.

You didn’t say anything else after that. The next round started without ceremony, cards shuffling, old rules mutating into new ones as the minutes passed, Yuki's courtesy. She won again, of course.

By the time you stood to stretch, the sunlight had shifted, no longer blazing but soft and slanted, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the room. Your limbs ached, not from exertion, but from stillness. From being. A good kind of ache.

Yuki remained where she was, her arms draped over her knees, eyes squinting faintly toward the fading light.

“Hey,” she said, almost offhand.

You turned back.

“…Next time I say I want to play cards again,” she said, not looking at you, “you’ll come, right?”

You smirked. “Even though you cheat?”

“Especially because I cheat.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for your jacket, slinging it over your shoulder. “Yeah. I’ll come.”

She didn’t smile wider. But it stayed. And that, somehow, meant more.

note:ㅤyuki my glorious queen, she needs more attention 😞🙏

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤ ⸺ COFFEE.

pairing: kuroo x gn!reader

cw: none.

synopsis: ㅤA rainy afternoon gets you more than a warm cup of coffee—kuroo and his terrible cat puns.

The Tokyo rain didn’t hold back, it came down in relentless sheets, turning sidewalks into rivers and umbrellas into flimsy shields. You ducked into the nearest café just in time, the bell above the door jingling as you shook out your umbrella, droplets splattering onto the mat. It was warm inside, cozy in that familiar, tucked-away corner-of-the-city kind of way. The scent of fresh coffee and rain-dampened books filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation and the occasional hiss from the espresso machine.

The café itself had a sort of rustic charm, dark wooden beams crossed overhead, and shelves crammed with mismatched books lined the brick walls. Old concert posters curled at the edges, framed by strings of dim fairy lights that cast a golden glow over chipped tables and worn leather chairs. The rain against the wide, foggy windows added a soft percussion to the mellow indie music playing through dusty speakers.

Outside, the city blurred into gray. Cars splashed through puddles, their headlights smeared by the rain, while pedestrians wrestled with umbrellas that bent against gusts of wind. The glow of streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, turning it into a kaleidoscope of orange and red. Despite the storm, life carried on, people rushing home, students darting between storefronts, the occasional cyclist pushing through the downpour like it was just another Tuesday.

You spotted an empty seat by the window, a rare find, and made a beeline for it. A stack of study notes hit the table with a soft thud, soon joined by a steaming cup of coffee. The outside world blurred through the rain-streaked glass. You flipped a page, half-reading, half-listening to the muted café chatter. Somewhere behind the counter, the barista was humming along to a soft pop song, and a group of students near the back were arguing about volleyball, voices raised over which school had the best libero.

“You look paws-itively miserable over here.”

The voice snapped you out of your thoughts, smooth, smug, and unmistakable. You didn’t even need to look up.

“Kuroo, if you’re about to drown me in cat puns, ”

“Too late,” he cut in, dropping into the seat across from you with a wet squelch. His hoodie was soaked through, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, though that infuriatingly smug grin remained intact. “Had to claw my way through the storm to get here. Almost didn’t make it.”

“You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Adds character.”

“You look like a drowned alley cat.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Despite yourself, you huffed a laugh, sliding your coffee across the table. “Here.”

He took it without hesitation, fingers brushing yours, whether on purpose or by accident, you weren’t sure. Probably on purpose. It was Kuroo, after all.

He took a slow sip, then set the cup down with a soft clink. “Y’know, I wasn’t even planning to come in here. Spotted you through the window and figured, ‘why not?’”

You blinked at him. “You came in here just because you saw me?”

Kuroo shrugged, but the smirk was all too telling. “Well, you looked like a sad little stray. Thought I’d rescue you.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here I am.”

The café buzzed quietly around you, students huddled over laptops, the baristas moving like clockwork behind the counter. Kuroo sat back in his seat, finally taking in your spread of papers. “Drowning in notes, over-studying… Nekoma’s academics really doing a number on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Unlike you, some of us can’t coast through on sheer luck.”

He tapped the side of his head. “Natural talent. And charm. Don’t forget the charm.”

“Pretty sure Yaku calls it dumb luck.”

Kuroo chuckled. “Yaku’s just too intense. I swear, the guy could probably coach the team himself with how much he yells.”

You snorted into the back of your hand which you were using to muffle your laughs. “And Lev? Still giving him headaches?”

“Oh, definitely. Lev somehow managed to spike a ball into the ceiling last week. Yaku nearly lost it.”

You bit back another laugh, the sound muffled against your palm. This felt… comfortable. The Nekoma gym wasn’t your scene, but its players were hard to ignore, especially Kuroo, who had this frustrating habit of popping up everywhere.

Thunder rumbled outside, low and lazy, as the rain kept its steady beat against the windows.

Kuroo sipped from your cup again, shamelessly. “So, you come here often, or was the universe just feeling generous today?”

“You really gonna use that line?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

You shook your head, warmth pooling in your chest despite the chill outside.

There was a beat of quiet, not awkward, just soft, before Kuroo drummed his fingers against the table, then scribbled something on a napkin with a half-dead pen he pulled from his hoodie.

“Here,” he said, sliding it toward you. His number, scrawled in messy handwriting, sat beneath a poorly drawn cat doodle. “Figured you could use a study buddy. Or someone to keep the puns coming.”

You picked up the napkin, fighting a grin. “This is a bribe.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Kuroo stood, gathering the damp edges of his hoodie, but not before tugging it off and tossing it onto the back of your chair. It was still warm, somehow.

“You’ll need it more than me,” he offered with a lazy grin. “Don’t want you getting cold. Cat-ch me later, alright?”

The bell over the door jingled as he left, the storm finally softening to a drizzle. You stared at the napkin, the stupid doodle, the barely legible number, and smiled.

“Dumbass,” you muttered, tucking it into your pocket.

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤㅤ⸺ CARE.

pairing: sukuna x gn!reader

cw: nothing except a very brief mention of violence (like two lines).

synopsis:ㅤdoing sukuna's skincare who—though begrudgingly, enjoys it.

The vast, echoing halls of Sukuna��s palace were usually filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the faintest rustle of the wind through ancient stone corridors. The cold marble floors stretched endlessly beneath towering columns, their surfaces etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with cursed energy. Crimson silk banners hung from the vaulted ceilings, their heavy fabric swaying ever so slightly, as though the palace itself breathed with a life of its own. Enormous windows, framed by dark stone arches, cast fragmented moonlight onto the cold floors, the patterns dancing like ghosts in the shadows.

But tonight, the air inside Sukuna’s private chambers felt different, softer, warmer, as you sat cross-legged on the silk cushions sprawled across a sprawling blackwood rug. The chamber walls were adorned with towering shelves filled with relics, ancient scrolls, and the occasional bone-white skull, each one telling a story of conquests long past. A towering brazier in the corner bathed the room in a flickering amber glow, casting dancing shadows across the high, vaulted ceiling. Behind Sukuna loomed a grand bed draped in dark crimson silks, the headboard carved with symbols you couldn’t begin to decipher. The heavy scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, grounding the room in a strange, unexpected calm.

Sukuna sat in front of you, his tall frame slouched lazily against the foot of his extravagant bed, though his crimson eyes burned with barely-concealed irritation. An eyebrow twitched upward in obvious disdain, his jaw tight, muscles flexing as if he was resisting every natural instinct to push you away. His many tattoos glowed faintly in the low light, the raven markings tracing sharp angles along his jawline and down his collarbone. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, but there he was, letting you smear moisturizer and an array of skincare products across his infamously fearsome face.

“This is pathetic,” he sneered, voice laced with venom. “You think I care about something as worthless as skincare?”

“You have dry skin,” you replied simply, as if that justified everything.

He clicked his tongue, crimson eyes narrowing. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Acting all smug while touching my face, do you have a death wish?”

“But” you murmured, dabbing the cream onto his cheekbones, “you're enjoying it.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Bold. I could rip your arms off before you blink.”

“You won’t,” you replied, meeting his glare head-on.

His jaw tensed, crimson irises burning with annoyance, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he sat there, rigid, his clawed fingers twitching in irritation, as you rubbed gentle circles along his temples. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, rough in some places but surprisingly smooth in others as if decades of battle didn't even land a scratch on him. He tilted his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if despite himself, he didn’t entirely hate it.

“You’re playing with fire, brat,” Sukuna growled, though there was a crack in his usual cruelty.

“You’re letting me,” you shot back with a small grin.

His lips curled into a sharp, mocking smile. “Hah. You’re lucky I’m bored.”

“Lucky, indeed.” you teased, tracing the edge of his jawline.

Sukuna’s eyes flickered, a dangerous gleam in them. “Keep running that mouth, and I might actually shut it for you.”

“Duly noted,” you replied dryly, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

As you smoothed the cream across the sharp lines of his cheekbones, your fingers brushed over a marking running along his temple. Sukuna’s breath hitched, so subtle, you might’ve missed it if you weren’t so close. His eyes snapped open, narrowed slits of red locking onto yours.

“What?” he snapped, though his voice was softer than before.

“Nothing,” you replied, your thumb still grazing the marking. “Just... you’re not as terrifying like this.”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “You’re either brave or stupid.”

“Maybe both,” you mused.

Sukuna’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in—just a fraction. “Don’t get any ideas. This means nothing.”

“Obviously,” you echoed, though your grin said otherwise.

Finishing the last of the cream, you sat back slightly, admiring your work. His skin gleamed under the flickering torchlight, the sharp angles of his face still fearsome but softened, just barely.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Be glad I’m in a good mood. One slip and you’d be nothing but a stain on the floor.”

“Yes, my lord.” you replied, waving him off.

For a moment, the cold, merciless palace felt almost... alive. There was something softer hidden beneath the layers of cruelty, though Sukuna would die before admitting it. “Don’t get used to this,” he growled, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

You smiled. “Ofcourse.”

But deep down, you both knew you’d be doing this again. And Sukuna? He didn’t hate it, not that he’d ever say it out loud.

[vorachii]

I stumbled upon ur writing and goddd, finally someone write abt childkuna sobs i love it sm i hope u get the best nap and cookies in the world

THANK YOUUU I LOVE NAPS & COOKIES 💗🙏 I haven't written fanfics before so im super glad you liked it 🫶

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤ⸺ DIVINE (4)

pairing: sukuna x angel!reader

cw: slightly graphic violence though nothing bad, reader is gender neutral, sukuna is a kid for the most part (this is meant to be platonic), reader described to have white wings and a golden halo, slow paced (kind of), angsty though some fluff.

ㅤ1ㅤ｜ㅤ2ㅤ｜ㅤ3ㅤ｜ㅤ4ㅤ｜ㅤ5

Time had a way of slipping through bloodstained fingers.

Years had passed since that freezing night beneath the dead tree, the night Sukuna first spoke the words “I’m cold”, but the chill had never really left. It simply changed shape. It twisted into hunger, into rage, into something vast and bottomless.

And now? Now, the world trembled at his name. The King of Curses.

The title fit like armor, heavy, brutal, and suffocating in the way Sukuna preferred. Villages fell, temples burned, and the earth itself seemed to recoil beneath his claws. His domain stretched wide, a kingdom of rot and ruin where cursed energy festered like a disease. Crimson clouds stained the skies, and rivers ran dark with the remnants of shattered clans. His power had shaped the very land, turning it into a reflection of his monstrous will, jagged landscapes, twisted forests where cursed spirits bred like vermin, and shrines left in ruin, their gods long forgotten.

But it was more than conquest. It was revenge. He razed the villages that once spat in his direction. The ones where mothers pulled their children close, whispering stories of the devil-child with too many arms and too many faces. Sukuna made sure they remembered, if only for a moment, before the fire took them. The smell of burning thatch, the sound of crumbling wood, the screams, all of it carved into the earth as deeply as it had been into him.

There was no mercy.

In one village, he’d found the old temple where elders once prayed for his removal. He tore the altar apart with his bare hands, his claws rending through sacred wood, the bones of forgotten deities scattered at his feet. Blood ran in rivulets down the stone steps, staining the earth as he laughed, deep and hollow. His domain wasn’t just a kingdom of curses; it was a graveyard of his past.

The forests twisted under his touch, their branches curling like claws, shadows thick with malevolent energy. Rivers once pure now ran black, slow-moving and heavy with decay. The wind itself carried whispers, echoes of curses, of hatred, of all the things the world had spat at him. Legends spread like wildfire, stories of a monster with four arms, two faces, and an insatiable thirst for power. To some, he was a god of death. To most, he was a nightmare given flesh.

But still, he wasn’t alone. The angel, his angel, was there. Always.

You hovered just behind him now, your glow a dull flicker against the crimson sky. Your wings, once sprawling, blinding things, hung ragged, feathers falling like dead petals in the dirt. Cracks spiderwebbed through your halo, thin as hairline fractures, but you gleamed in the dying light. The withering was no longer subtle; it clung to them like a second skin.

Sukuna never acknowledged the sound of feathers hitting the ground anymore. At least, not out loud.

He sat cross-legged atop his heavy stone throne inlaid with blood-red gemstones, blood drying on his claws, the coppery tang thick in the air. You stood nearby, a hollow shadow of your former self, but your presence still radiated that faint, stubborn warmth.

He hated it.

“You’re looking worse,” Sukuna sneered, not bothering to turn. “I thought angels were supposed to be untouchable.” You didn’t answer. You never did when he prodded like this. Another feather drifted past, catching on the breeze before crumbling into dust. Sukuna’s eyes followed it, irritation twitching at the corner of his mouth.

He remembered the first time he expanded his Domain. It had been violent, raw and unrefined, a manifestation of pure instinct and hate. The ground had split beneath him, rivers of blood carving jagged paths through stone, while the sky fractured like glass overhead. Cursed spirits had fled, their instincts recognizing a predator they could not match. It was in that moment the world truly learned to fear him.

“You should leave,” he spat, voice sharp. “I don't need you anymore.”

You tilted your head, a sharply contrasting silhouette against the blood-soaked horizon.

“And lo… I endure still.”

Sukuna’s jaw tensed. His claws dug into the stone, splintering it beneath his fingers. “Tch. Stupid.” But the truth clawed at him in the silence that followed. He didn’t want them to leave. The thought burned through him like poison.

He stood abruptly. You didn’t flinch, even as Sukuna stepped closer, towering over them. His four arms hung loose at his sides, but the tension was thick, the air practically vibrating with it.

Your eyes, those pitiless, ancient things, narrowed. “I have gained power, a title,” he muttered, voice low. “And yet you still follow me around like some cursed shadow.” Your response was soft, barely above the wind. “I am bound unto thee, unto this choice, even amidst ruin.”

Sukuna’s lip curled, but his claws didn’t rise.

Instead, his gaze flickered, briefly, to the hollow space where another feather had fallen, leaving nothing but dust. For a moment, something cracked in him. A flicker of something that wasn’t rage or pride or hunger. But it was gone just as fast. He scoffed, sharp and bitter. “Weak,” he bit out. “You should’ve let me rot when you had the chance.”

You didn’t argue.

But Sukuna noticed it, the way your shoulders sagged, the halo dimmed just a fraction more. And something inside him twisted, sharp and cold. “You’re a fool,” he whispered, but the venom was hollow.

He turned away sharply, storming down the crumbling steps of the shrine. The dust from shattered feathers clung to his claws. Memories clawed at him, battles fought, blood spilled, power amassed. He remembered the cursed spirits that challenged him, their forms grotesque and ancient, and how he tore through them as if they were nothing. Each victory built his legend, but each left a deeper hollow inside him.

The wind howled through the broken shrine, carrying the dust of fallen feathers far, far away. Sukuna didn’t watch them drift. Not this time. But when the cold pressed in again, deep and gnawing, he didn’t push you away, either.

It wasn’t long before a cursed spirit came, a few days at most.

Ancient. Rotting. A bloated, serpentine thing with too many eyes and a mouth that stretched from jaw to chest, scales as sharp as blades and eyes that glowed like molten gold. Its hiss split the air, thunderous and piercing, as it coiled through the twisted forest, trees cracking beneath its weight, the air thick with its poison.

Sukuna grinned.

The fight was brutal, his Domain materializing in a snap, a temple of bone and flesh, its walls writhing with cursed energy. Blood soaked the ground, the air vibrating with malevolence as Sukuna tore through the spirit, its screams high and broken.

The fight was a dance of chaos. Sukuna lunged first, four arms wielding cursed energy like blades, slashing through the thick scales with brutal precision. The serpent twisted, its tail cracking through the air, knocking Sukuna into a crumbling boulder. Dust exploded around him, blood trickling down his chin.

But as the cursed spirit lunged one final time, jaws wide and venom dripping, Sukuna didn’t strike.

Instead, he stepped back.

You moved without thinking. You crossed the threshold of Sukuna’s Domain, where the rot was thickest, where cursed energy clawed at purity like fire to dry grass. Your feet hit the bloodied ground, and the effect was instant. A violent crack split through your halo, light sputtering as your wings bent beneath an invisible weight. Feathers blackened at the edges before disintegrating entirely. The glow that once radiated from them faltered, dimming to a frail flicker.

But you didn’t falter. You raised a hand, light pooling in your palm, and with a force that shook the temple walls, you sent the cursed spirit hurtling backward, its twisted form snapping against the bone pillars before collapsing into dust.

Silence.

Sukuna stood still, four arms loose at his sides, but his jaw was tight, his teeth bared. You staggered, one knee hitting the ground as another feather crumbled into ash beside them. “You stepped in,” Sukuna murmured, something sharp in his voice. You smiled, simply. Your halo, growing more fractured with each intervention, flickered weakly.

Sukuna’s claws flexed. “What kind of angel are you?” he growled, but there was no heat behind it. His Domain dissipated around them, the temple walls crumbling into nothing, leaving only the open sky, deep red, clouds swirling like bloodied smoke. He didn’t help them up. But he didn’t leave, either.

Another feather fell. And this time, Sukuna watched it hit the ground. He didn’t know what he hated more, your loyalty or his own reaction to it.

taglist:

@after-laughter-come-tears @prettorett @nynxtea

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤㅤ⸺ SHOGI.

ㅤㅤㅤ (shogi is a Japanese game, similar to chess)

pairing: gojo x gn!reader

cw: nothing, completely sfw

synopsis:ㅤa friendly rivalry leads to a bet with gojo over a game of shogi

It all started as a joke, a small rivalry between you and Gojo, the kind that began with silly bets over trivial things. At first, it was harmless: a challenge to see who could eat the most snacks in one sitting, or a competition to see who could make the best cup of coffee. But as time went on, the stakes grew higher, the dares more outlandish.

The latest one? A match of shogi.

It was a quiet afternoon at Jujutsu High, the kind where the usual chaos had temporarily taken a backseat. Yuuji and Nobara had been sent on a low-level mission with Megumi, leaving the campus unusually calm, everyone else was too busy to notice Gojo sneaking away with a shogi board.

You found yourselves sprawled out in one of the less-used classrooms, sunlight filtering through half-drawn blinds, dust particles swirling lazily in the warm beams. The desks had been shoved aside to make space on the floor, where the shogi board now sat between you. Gojo lounged like he didn’t have a single care in the world, his long legs stretched out, blindfold pushed up to rest on his forehead, revealing those annoyingly bright eyes.

"I’ll play you, but here's the twist," Gojo had said, an arrogant smile stretching across his face as he leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets. "If I win, you have to spend a whole day doing whatever I say."

You’d raised an eyebrow. "And if I win?"

He shrugged. "Then we can call it a day. I’ll buy you lunch, or whatever." His nonchalance only fueled your competitive spirit. After all, you’d been practicing, and Gojo, as usual, underestimated you.

"You’re going down this time," you muttered, moving a piece forward with more force than necessary.

Gojo scoffed, flashing his trademark grin. "You say that every time, and yet here we are."

A faint breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the distant sounds of crows cawing from the school’s wooded edges. The faint thud of someone practicing cursed techniques echoed somewhere in the distance, probably Yaga overseeing some poor first-year’s training.

You studied the board, your brain ticking through strategies. The soft creak of the old classroom mixed with Gojo’s idle humming as he lazily moved his pieces. For a moment, it was almost peaceful.

The match started off easy enough, your moves deliberate, calculated. But Gojo? He didn’t even seem to care. His pieces moved in a haphazard way, as though he were trying to lull you into a false sense of confidence.

"Careful now," Gojo teased, leaning forward. "I might just be toying with you."

You scoffed, moving your piece across the board. "Keep dreaming. You’re getting too cocky."

His eyes glinted. "We’ll see about that."

The match grew tense, and you were certain that you were getting the upper hand. Every move you made felt like it was drawing you closer to victory. You could practically taste it. Though it quickly kicked up in intensity. You planned each move carefully, watching Gojo’s fingers dance across the board with infuriating ease. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he baited you into traps, then pulled back just when you thought you had him.

"Why do I feel like you’re letting me think I’m winning?" you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

He didn’t answer, just offered a cryptic smile.

The tension built with each move. You were so close. A few more strategic placements, and Gojo’s king would be boxed in. But then… Gojo did something unexpected.

He smirked. "I think I’ll make my final move.”

And then, in a single, effortless motion, Gojo slid his rook forward, completely flipping the board’s dynamic, You didn’t see it coming, your entire strategy unraveled with one swift move, and before you knew it, your king was in checkmate. “Checkmate,” he sang. "You lost," Gojo said simply, crossing his arms and leaning back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You stared at the board, dumbfounded as your heart slowly sank. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

He didn’t answer. He was too busy reveling in his victory. You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the urge to throw the board across the room. Of course, you’d lost. Of course, Gojo had somehow won, even though you’d been so close. You glared at him, frustration bubbling up.

Gojo smirked and leaned down to meet your gaze. "So, about that punishment…"

And that’s how you ended up at an abandoned bookstore on a cloudy afternoon.

The store loomed in front of you like something out of a forgotten storybook. Its windows, smeared with layers of grime, let in only the faintest light, and the door creaked open as Gojo pushed it with one swift motion. The smell hit you instantly, musty, like old paper and aged wood, the kind of scent that only came from books that had been left to gather dust for decades. The air was thick and cool, almost too cool, as though the building itself was holding its breath. You could hear the soft echoes of your footsteps on the creaky wooden floorboards, each step making the floor groan beneath you.

Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched out into the dim, shadowy corners of the room. The shelves were packed so tightly with old, worn books that they seemed to lean inward, threatening to spill over. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the shelves, delicate and undisturbed, as though the bookstore hadn’t been touched in years, maybe decades.

The walls were lined with faded, yellowing posters of authors you didn’t recognize, and a few scattered armchairs lay abandoned in the center of the room, their cushions sagging from years of neglect. The light filtering through the dust-matted windows cast long, eerie shadows across the room, making the whole place feel like it was caught in a forgotten moment in time.

Gojo seemed completely unfazed, right at home in fact, his energy practically bouncing off the shelves as he enthusiastically dragged you deeper into the place while he gleefully announced that you’d be doing exactly what he wanted today.

"So, here’s the deal," Gojo said, spinning on his heel and looking around the shop with exaggerated enthusiasm. "I’ve always have a really creepy ghost story, and you, are going to be my audience."

You raised an eyebrow. "A ghost story? Really?"

"Oh, come on. It’ll be fun!" He grinned, plopping down on a tattered old chair as though he were preparing for a long, theatrical performance. "Here’s a good one."

He cleared his throat, dramatically folding his hands in front of him like a storyteller at the edge of a campfire.

"There was once a man, a very lonely man, who stumbled upon this very bookstore," Gojo began, his voice taking on a deep, almost ominous tone. "He was a scholar, a man of knowledge, but he had one deep obsession: he was always searching for the ‘perfect’ book. You know, the kind that’s said to have… powers. Something dark, something that could grant him knowledge beyond any human’s understanding."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming as though he were pulling you into the story.

"But little did he know, the bookstore he found wasn’t just any ordinary place. It was cursed. The books it housed were not mere pages, but… trapped souls."

You frowned, feeling an unease building in your chest. Gojo's grin widened.

"As the man wandered deeper into the store, he could feel the air growing colder, the shelves shifting. And then, from the darkness, a voice whispered. It called his name, over and over again. 'Help me.'"

He paused for dramatic effect.

"Just when the man thought he couldn’t take it anymore, one of the books fell from the shelf. He opened it, and inside, there was a single sentence written in blood: 'I will never leave.'"

Gojo's voice dropped even lower, the silence in the room making the tension unbearable. "The man, terrified, turned to leave… but the books wouldn’t let him. The shelves closed in on him, the pages cutting him like knives, until he was consumed by the curse of the store. And now…"

Gojo’s voice took on an eerie whisper as he leaned closer to you. "Now, his spirit is said to haunt this place, seeking anyone foolish enough to step foot inside…"

You could feel the chill in the air as Gojo let the story hang in the silence, the weight of his words lingering in the space between you. You tried to roll your eyes, but the way he delivered the story, complete with creepy sound effects and exaggerated facial expressions, actually got under your skin.

As he spoke, you couldn't help but glance around, the dim lighting casting long shadows over the rows of books. You were so engrossed in his storytelling that you barely noticed Gojo quietly slipping away behind a stack of old books. It wasn’t until a chill swept through the room that you realized something was wrong.

"Gojo, I don’t-" you started, but then the lights flickered, and suddenly, the room felt far colder. You froze, a cold shiver running down your spine. You spun around, searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Gojo?" you asked, your voice unsteady. "That was just a story, right?"

But there was no answer. You glanced around, a creeping feeling settling in. The air had become so still, so tense, and then… nothing.

Your heart pounded.

"Gojo?" you called again, trying to shake off the rising sense of dread. No response.

And then, just as you turned to leave, you heard a soft creak from the shadows. You whipped around, expecting to see Gojo standing there with that grin of his, but no, nothing. Only darkness.

"Gojo?!" you snapped, stepping forward cautiously.

Thud!

A book fell off a shelf, the sound too sharp in the thick silence. Your breath hitched in your throat. Suddenly, a figure darted past the edge of your vision. You gasped, stumbling backward. "Gojo, stop it!"

But there was no answer. The room felt colder.

Out of nowhere, Gojo jumped from behind a stack of books, hands raised in mock horror. "Gotcha!" he laughed, clutching his stomach as if he were about to collapse from laughter.

You stood there, heart still racing, trying to catch your breath as your chest heaved. "You, " you started, your words a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You scared the living hell out of me."

Gojo wiped away a tear from his eye, still laughing. "I couldn’t resist. I mean, you were so into it!"

You shot him a glare, trying to ignore the adrenaline that was still surging through you. "I’m going to get you back for this."

"Ha! You couldn’t if you tried," Gojo said, brushing himself off and straightening his clothes. "Alright, now that we’ve gotten past the scary stuff… how about we grab some ice cream? Or maybe we can prank some of the other teachers?"

For a moment, you just stared at him, that playful gleam in his eyes making it impossible to resist. "You know," you said with a smirk of your own, "I think I’ll let you off easy this time."

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So I’m off the hook now? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He chuckled and ruffled your hair. "Well, that’s no fun. But I’ll take it."

And with that, he led you out of the bookstore, already rambling about his next ridiculous idea. It was clear that, despite the pranks and the playful rivalry, the bond between you two was something deeper than just a game.

Maybe next time, though, you’d get him back.

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤ⸺ DIVINE (3)

pairing: sukuna x angel!reader

cw: slightly graphic violence though nothing bad, reader is gender neutral, sukuna is a kid for the most part (this is meant to be platonic), reader described to have white wings and a golden halo, slow paced (kind of), angsty though some fluff.

ㅤ1ㅤ｜ㅤ2ㅤ｜ㅤ3ㅤ｜ㅤ4ㅤ｜ㅤ5

The discomfort and the chill bit deeper today. The rain hadn’t stopped.

It wasn’t the kind that skimmed the surface, this cold sank straight through muscle and bone, pooling in his chest like rot. Sukuna sat in the hollow of a dying tree, knees pulled close, four arms wrapped tightly around himself. Every shallow breath clouded in front of him, the air heavy with damp rot.

It had been days, gray, relentless, seeping into the earth until it swallowed his bare feet in mud. His robes, thin and torn, stuck to his skin like cold, wet paper. The fabric barely clung to his frame now, weighed down by dirt and water.

His stomach-mouth gnashed its jagged teeth, saliva stringing between them as it snapped at nothing. But the mouth only growled louder as time went on, its starvation clawing at his insides like dull blades. Rain still slicked the forest floor, turning the dirt to a thick sludge that clung to his limbs. His robes, tattered and thin, hung off him, soaked through from the relentless storm.

He couldn’t even feel his fingers. But worse than the cold, worse than the gnawing hunger, was the quiet. Too quiet. The kind that dragged thoughts out of hiding. His claws flexed against the wet bark, sharp tips digging shallow lines, but it didn’t help. It didn’t stop the ache clawing its way up his chest. The villagers had stopped talking about him weeks ago. Stopped whispering his name like it was a curse. He wasn’t even worth fear anymore, just… discarded.

“Demon-born.”

“Should’ve left him to rot at birth.”

“An omen.”

The words rang fresh in his head, like the cold had carved them into bone. He bared his teeth at the memory, but there was no one around to see it. No one to snarl at. No one to kill. The hunger gnawed deeper. He shifted, muscles stiff and aching, and glared up at the sky. The clouds pressed low and heavy, suffocating the light. His jaw locked, stubborn and raw with pride, but his vision blurred around the edges, starvation clawing at him harder than he wanted to admit.

His pride, however, burned, seething and stubborn. “I’m fine.” But his body trembled against the lie.

The bread the angel had given him was long gone, reduced to a dull memory, one that gnawed cruelly at the edges of his mind. He hadn’t eaten since. Not properly. Not anything that mattered. Every rabbit he’d tried to snatch was too fast. Every berry he tore from the brush tasted bitter and wrong.

But worse was the emptiness. No weight in the air, no halo, no flicker of warm golden light. The angel was gone, just like he wanted. Sukuna’s fingers twitched at the thought. His throat burned.

“… stupid guardian.” he spat, voice low, but it didn’t hold its usual bite. He hated how quiet the clearing felt now. The weight of it settled on his shoulders, heavier than before. His arms curled tighter around himself, the cold sinking deeper.

I’ll die out here.

The thought came bitter and sharp. Not from fear. No, Sukuna didn’t fear death. But the humiliation of wasting away in the dirt, like some weak, pitiful thing? That crawled under his skin worse than any hunger. And worse still, his mind drifted to the angel, to the soft flicker of light that cut through the dark that night, the warmth of the food you provided, your calm, endless patience, so sure, so heavy. His throat tightened. But the cold wouldn’t stop. It seeped into his bones, heavy and cruel. His claws clenched tighter. He wouldn’t die out here. Not like this. Not like some forgotten waste. But his limbs trembled, a shiver he couldn’t bite down.

Weak. The word burned. No.

No, no, no. He wasn’t going to call, he wouldn't be reduced to that level yet. But his claws dug into the mud anyway, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. “You still up there?” he growled into the dark, his voice rasping against the cold air.

Nothing. No flicker. No feathers.

“I know you are,” Sukuna snapped, more desperation slipping through than he wanted. “You’re not gone.” Still, only silence. The wind hissed through the branches, cold and sharp. Sukuna’s body trembled. His pride twisted, clawing at his throat. “I’m…” the word stalled, bitter on his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut, the ache in his chest deepening. “I’m cold.”

It wasn’t much, barely anything, but it shattered something inside him. The air shifted. Soft at first, like the brush of feathers on the wind, before it grew heavy. Divine. Light flickered, thin at first, before swelling wide.

Sukuna’s eyes snapped open as the angel appeared, halo burning gently above your head, wings spread and sturdy as if no distance could worn them thin. Your form flickered, unstable, but they were there. Whole enough.

The warmth was instant, like sunlight cracking through heavy storm clouds. But Sukuna didn’t fall into it yet. He scowled, fighting the twist in his chest. “Took you long enough,” he bit out, but the words didn’t land right. His voice wavered, thin and strained. You didn’t speak, they didn’t need to. You moved closer, the soft glow of your wings cutting into the cold, and Sukuna didn’t move away, he didn’t flinch, not this time. You knelt beside him, Your cracked golden dim but warm, Sukuna, after a beat, let himself lean into it, just slightly.

Just enough to let the warmth bleed into him, his four arms still stubbornly crossed but his head tilted forward, resting in the faint halo of heat, but he didn’t say thank you, he never would. And you didn’t ask for it. You simply stayed. Your presence heavy, warm, and ancient, filling the hollow space the cold had carved out.

For the first time in days, Sukuna wasn’t alone.

He refused to look at you, at first. But something itched at the back of his mind. A pull. His gaze drifted up, despite himself. The angel’s wings, they weren’t right. The feathers, once blinding white, now dulled to a brittle gray at the edges. A few drifted down, slow and silent, crumbling before they even hit the ground.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed it. The withering. The slow rot eating at the door feathers, causing slowly but steadily deepening cracks in their halo. He didn’t ask. Didn’t care. But the thought lodged in his head anyway.

You were breaking for him.

And he hated how it didn’t feel as good as he hoped it would.

taglist:

@after-laughter-come-tears @prettorett @nynxtea

[vorachii]

　 ㅤ⸺DIVINE (2)

pairing: sukuna x angel!reader

cw: slightly graphic violence though nothing bad, reader is gender neutral, sukuna is a kid for the most part (this is meant to be platonic), reader described to have white wings and a golden halo, slow paced (kind of), angsty though some fluff.

ㅤ1ㅤ｜ㅤ2ㅤ｜ㅤ3ㅤ｜ㅤ4ㅤ｜ㅤ5

The cold set in fast.

Twilight bled into night, the last smear of sunlight swallowed by jagged treetops, leaving Sukuna stranded in the thick, creeping dark. The rain had stopped, but the earth remained slick beneath him, mud caking his bare feet, the heavy scent of rot and moss filling his nose, wrists raw where the ropes had bitten deep, his stomach aching with a hollow, gnawing hunger.

The clearing, which they had left him at, stretched out, empty. Too big.

He sat hunched at its edge, back pressed against a crooked tree, his smaller hands curled into fists in the dirt while his upper pair hung limp at his sides, too tired to hold up the weight of his body. His two faces wore different emotions, one grim, jaw tight, the other a slack mask of exhaustion.

The mouth on his stomach twitched open, drooling idly. Hungry. Always hungry. His shoulders trembled, but whether from cold or rage, even he couldn’t tell. His stomach growled, not the mouth, but the hollow pit in his gut. The other one, though, the monster-mouth, it gaped open, teeth jagged and gleaming in the dark.

The first hours of silence stretched like wire, thin and sharp.

Insects screamed in the tall grass, shrill and endless. Something heavy moved far off in the trees, the deep, scraping step of something stronger, hungrier than him, but it didn’t come closer.

The cold crawled higher, threading through his torn clothes. He’d stopped wiping the blood from his temple hours ago; it dried sticky down his cheek, crusting over a bruise that throbbed with a slow, heavy pulse. The villagers hadn’t said it aloud, but he knew, they hadn’t left him here to live. They were waiting for the forest to chew him up. Let nature handle the mess they were too fearful to finish. His claws dug into the dirt at that thought. Cowards.

But even as the anger flared, it extinguished just as fast, leaving something worse in its place. The emptiness. The raw, gnawing ache of it. He’d never had a soft life, never had much of a life at all, but this… this was something else. The village was gone. The thin thread that tied him to anything, even hate, had been cut.

He was six years old.

And utterly alone.

His lower lip trembled before he caught it between his teeth. He bit down hard. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare. But his body betrayed him. Hot tears pricked his eyes, burning down his dirt-smeared face. His shoulders shook as he pressed his forehead into his knees, clawed hands tightening until his nails bit into his own skin. It wasn’t the cold that made him shake. It was knowing that no one was coming. No mother. No father.

No one to scream his name or curse him or drag him home by the wrist. Nothing. The hunger clawed deeper, twisting in his gut, and the mouth on his stomach cracked open again, low and guttural, a wet sound that echoed in the clearing. The sound cracked halfway through, small and raw. The echo faded fast, the night pressed in tighter. He didn’t know how long he sat there after that, head heavy, claws limp, tears drying in cold streaks. Time blurred in the dark.

How long before something tears me apart out here? The thought didn’t scare him. If anything, it felt inevitable. Hunger clawed at his ribs. Every breath dragged in the damp, mossy air like it was trying to drown him. And then…

A shift.

It wasn’t a sound, not at first. More like the air itself had bent, twisted at the seams. The hairs on the back of Sukuna’s neck stood on end. He scrambled to his feet, back hitting the base of a crooked tree, claws halfway formed as cursed energy crackled faintly at his fingertips, weak, unfocused, but wild.

“I’m not scared!” Sukuna spat into the dark, a lie that felt bitter in his throat. The air bent behind him. A flutter. Soft, slow, wings. Before he could turn, a shape unfolded from the shadows, towering and radiant, its form too vast and too hollow all at once. Sukuna spun around, claws raised, heart pounding sharp in his chest, and froze. The creature stood there, silent, like it had been waiting.

A figure draped in white, the fabric heavy and frayed at the edges, like it had weathered storms longer than the earth had existed. Wings spread wide, feathers aglow with a soft, cold light that didn’t come from the moon. A halo, thin yet shiny golden, faintly pulsed above your head, emitting a gentle light. And [e/c] eyes, endless, patient, bore into him. You stood still, silent, wings spread wide, the edges soft and luminous, like starlight woven into feathers. Your face was unreadable. Sukuna’s chest heaved. Instinct screamed run, but there was nowhere to go.

Sukuna's throat went dry.

“What… are you?” His breath caught as you didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped forward, wings folding tighter around yourself, and the light that radiated off your form dimmed, just enough that Sukuna could really look at you. Your head tilted, [h/c] locks falling delicately over your face.

"Anguish etched upon fragile bone, thou art a hollow vessel." Your voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be, it echoed through the air itself, delicate and heavy all at once.

“You calling me weak?” he snapped, claws flexing. “I’ll tear you-!” But then, his stomach growled. Loud. Sukuna froze mid-threat, heat rising to his face. Your mouth curled, just faintly, into something between pity and understanding. You reached into the folds of your robe, pulling out a small piece of bread, its crust still faintly warm, steam curling in the cold air and held it out, your hand warm yet cold at the same time, the light from your palm soft.

Sukuna hesitated.

“...Is this a trick?”

You didn’t answer again. Only stood there, the bread still extended, as if it didn’t matter whether he took it or not, as if you would stand there forever if that’s what it took. Pride warred with hunger. His pride screamed at him to throw it into the dirt, to snarl and spit and tell you where to shove it, but the hunger had claws of its own. Sukuna snatched the bread from your hand, tearing into it viciously, crumbs scattering to the dirt. The warmth filled him fast, not enough to soften the ache completely, but enough to dull its edges.

Warmth spread through his hollowed-out belly, dulling the ache for the first time in days. When he finally looked back up, the angel was still there, still watching.

“Are you a curse?” Sukuna asked, wiping his chin with his sleeve. Your face still didn't shift despite his animalistic display.

"No curse could bear witness. I am thy guardian, though such sight was not meant for thee."

Sukuna squinted, the words scraping against something deep inside him. “I don’t need a guardian.” He scoffed and turned his head away.

But you didn’t fade. Didn’t leave. You only tilted your head, the faintest smile, sad, knowing, crossing your features. "All lost things believe the same, ere they are found."

The words stuck in the air, heavy and sharp. Sukuna didn’t know why, but they made his throat ache. So he did what he always did, turned his back. He sneered, baring his fangs. “The hell are you staring at?”

"Thy hunger gnaws beyond the flesh. It carves at the soul."

Sukuna’s jaw clenched. “Shut up.” He spat into the dirt, claws twitching at his sides. “I don’t need you hanging over me like some priest.”

You tilted your head, a soft crackle of feathers shifting as your wings tightened. "Thou art alone. And yet, thou choose solitude still."

That hit something raw. Sukuna didn’t show it. He bared his teeth wider, one face twisted in rage, the other curled in a sick grin. “Yeah? And I’ll survive alone. I don’t need some god-pet hovering around me. I’m not weak.” The clearing thickened with tension, like the air itself held its breath. Your light flickered, a slow pulse of something ancient. "I am not here to bind thee," you said, your voice softer now, "but to shield, should the storm strike too soon."

Sukuna scoffed. “I am the storm.” The words tasted good, heavy, cruel. But the silence that followed felt heavier. Though you didn’t flinch nor argue. You just stood there, wings wide, light cutting into the shadows. And that pissed him off more. “Get out of here,” Sukuna snapped, his four arms tensing. “Go back to whatever holy hole you crawled out of.” For the first time, your halo flickered a faint, sputtering light as if Sukuna’s words dug deeper than he meant.

"As thou commandeth, so shall it be." The light fractured. Wings folded inward, your glow curling in like dying embers. And in a flash, the clearing was empty, cold. Sukuna stood there, fists clenched tight, jaw locked, the forest felt wider now, too wide and too hollow. “Good riddance,” he muttered, but the words didn’t land right.

It felt as if the shadows swallowed him whole.

note: i had 2 written already so here it is but the rest are still drafts so they'll take a while. do y'all like the way reader talks? or should i keep it non fancy?

taglist:

@after-laughter-come-tears @prettorett @nynxtea

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤ⸺ DIVINE (1)

pairing: sukuna x angel!reader.

cw: slightly graphic violence though nothing bad, reader is gender neutral, sukuna is a kid for the most part (this is meant to be platonic), reader described to have white wings and a golden halo, slow paced (kind of), angsty though some fluff.

ㅤ1ㅤ｜ㅤ2ㅤ｜ㅤ3ㅤ｜ㅤ4ㅤ｜ㅤ5

Angels are timeless, beings of hollow light and divine purpose, bound by an ancient code: to watch, to guide, but never to touch. Never to interfere. Yet even in the vastness of eternity, some laws fracture… and some angels fall.

It was raining the night the infant was born.

Not a soft, cleansing rain, but a brutal, slashing downpour that drowned out the screams echoing through the tiny, crumbling village. Inside a flickering hut, his mother lay twisted in agony, blood soaking the straw beneath her. The midwife’s hands trembled as she pulled the child free, but the moment the infant slipped into the world, the air shifted, heavy, suffocating.

The screaming stopped.

For a beat, there was nothing but the thunder outside. Then the midwife staggered backward, a raw, strangled noise tearing from her throat, knocking over a lantern that flared, hissed, then died in the rain leaking through the roof.

“Demon—”

The child in her hands was monstrous.

The infant’s skin was pale, stretched too tightly over sharp bones, foour arms, tiny fists clenched tight and slick with blood. Two faces, one sleeping, one wide awake, both twisted in something between fury and hunger. A jagged line ran down his abdomen, splitting open into a toothy, drooling maw that snapped at the cold air as if starving from the moment it drew breath.

His mother’s final cry didn’t come from pain, but horror. She tried to turn away. She couldn’t. His father stood frozen in the doorway, rain washing down his face, though his eyes remained dry.

“Kill it,” he muttered, voice hollow. “That… that thing isn’t ours.”

But no blade was raised that night. Fear bound their hands, not mercy and so Sukuna survived, yet the village did not forgive him for it.

As he grew, so did the legend of the creature that lived among them, a demon, a curse. Children whispered curses behind his back, their mothers yanking them aside like his very presence could stain them.. Farmers spat into the dirt when he passed. His extra arms became a reason to shove him harder, his sharp teeth a reason to call him a beast. The villagers spoke of him only in whispers, if they spoke of him at all.

He stopped crying the third time a stone split his brow. By the time he was six, no one spoke to him unless it was to curse him. His own father refused to look him in the eye.

The hunger was constant, he stole. Fought. Survived.

Stones followed in his wake, small at first, then bigger as they realized he wouldn’t fight back, not yet. His two faces made it worse. One could glare while the other grinned. It unsettled them. It made them crueler.

By the time he was six, he’d stopped flinching when they hit him.

The other boys in the village didn’t just throw stones — they threw fists, sticks, anything that could bruise and break. Once, they cornered him near the well, four of them bigger than him, all wide-eyed and trembling but too deep in their own cruelty to stop.

“Monster!” one spat.

The second he lunged at Sukuna, he made his first mistake.

Snap!

Sukuna’s stomach mouth shot open, rows of jagged teeth clamping down on the boy’s wrist. The scream was loud enough to stop the crows in the trees.

When the blood sprayed, something inside Sukuna twisted — not in guilt, but satisfaction.

The boy limped home, arm torn and raw.

That night, the village elders gathered. The next morning, they dragged Sukuna from his hut before dawn, ropes biting into his wrists. His father didn’t speak a word as they led him to the edge of the forest.

A demon didn’t deserve to live among man

They dragged him to the edge of the forest at dawn. No explanations. No warnings. The ropes around his wrists bit deep, but Sukuna didn’t scream. Didn’t beg. His father shoved him hard into the dirt.

“If you come back, we’ll kill you this time.”

They left him there, in the cold, in the mud, a child with two faces, four arms, and no one left to hate but himself. He watched as they turned their backs on him, as if leaving him to rot was mercy. The cold bit into his bare feet, the forest swallowed their footsteps.

Rain started again, softer this time, soaking into his hair as he stood there, six years old and already forgotten.

And for the first time in his short, brutal life, Sukuna was alone.

[vorachii]

All my works in one place.

JIUJITSU KAISEN

divine (mini series) ⸺ 【 sukuna 】

care ⸺ 【 sukuna 】

shogi ⸺ 【 gojo 】

RSB ⸺ 【 yuki 】

HAIKYUU!

coffee ⸺ 【 kuroo 】

[vorachii]

✦ ⸺ Fandoms I write for :

ㅤ・ GAMES:

Call of Duty

Genshin Impact

Mortal Kombat

Homicipher

ㅤ・ ANIME:

Jujitsu Kaisen

Blue Lock

Haikyuu!!

Bleach

My Hero Academia

Chainsaw Man

Demon Slayer

Hunter x Hunter

List is subjective to change. I do not write for every character in every piece of media, feel free to ask, though. Before requesting, please refer to "rules".

[vorachii]

　 ⸺ㅤ✦ RULES

g/n reader always unless specified otherwise.

no smut, sfw only (i can't write nsfw).

"dead dove: do not eat" content allowed! (w/ some exceptions, refer to #5)

minors allowed to interact unless specified otherwise.

rape, incest, pedophilia, zoophilia (and anything among those lines) is strictly prohibited!

i won't write for specific races (im not comfortable writing a race im not + it would limit my work greatly)

i do not write for real people (celebrities, youtubers etc).

i have a fairly busy schedule, though i try to post whenever i can, please be mindful!

Above mentioned rules do not apply to my poetry related posts. Failure to follow these rules will result in a block.

ㅤㅤㅤ 【 My apologies for any inconveniences 】

Refer to "requests" for request information.

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤ ✦ VOR[ACHI]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ【 vo-rah-chee 】ㅤㅤ｜ㅤㅤ any/allㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⸺ fanfics + poetry

(english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes)

ㅤㅤrulesㅤ｜ㅤmasterlistㅤ｜ㅤrequests