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Sukuna didn’t know how it began, why, or which fucked up god thought it was funny. One day, he was lazing around the space of his domain, kicking broken bull-shaped skulls off the rustic throne, and the next he finds a single white flower resting peacefully on the foot of his skull tower.
It was weird.
So weird in fact, he couldn’t even begin to process the first time happened.
He crouches down to examine the flower, the tips of his white kimono touching the bloodied waters. A rather unpleasant sensation of wet cloth rubbed against his covered ankles. The lone flora blooms from the open hole of one the skulls. Several cracks extends from the eye socket where the flower intrudes, as if the strange organism has forced its way through the tough exterior of the skull.
It was... unexpected. The domain was his and his alone, from the eerie atmosphere and the large spine like bone that encases the space. To have something beyond his control sit so welcomingly was irritating. And even he knew that that was an understatement. Severely so. He feels remnants of old patience slip from his clawed fingers.
With a sneer that could send children running with ugly tears, he plucks the unsuspecting flower off and burns it in his palm, crushing the brittle petals in a tight fist. He watches little embers of its remains float. Ash slips from the crevices of his open fingers, mixing with the murky waters, settling in the shallowness of all of it.
The flower never came back.
He hoped it wouldn’t.
Not until 6 days later, when the same damned white flower appeared by the very same place, accompanied with even more flowers of its kind, forming a mini-garden of sorts. They were a lot now, a whole lot more than the single plant he had seen on that day. If he were in his old body, he could have held all of them in his four large hands, and hopefully, burning them with it.
He clicks his tongue at the sight and began grabbing them by the stems, yanking them off the holes of the skulls in clusters. His grip was so tight, and if they were roses, thorns would have punctured holes in his skin and bleed through the tight hold. But they weren’t, they didn’t hurt, not his hands anyway. They were not appealing for his eyes.
He hoped they would have gone. But the King of Curses was rarely forgiving, and much to his chagrin, so were the gods.
The day after that, white flowers bloomed once more, its green leaves vibrant and bright, excessively wild by the depths of his skull tower. They grow and grow and grow, then he rips them off like he would with the flesh of his enemies, burning them to ashes, watching the dust spill and mix with the waters.
They come back.
They keep coming back.
Like the other day, and the day after that and the next and the next. And he would pluck them off in batches and burn them. The smell of charred plants fills his domain, abusing his nostrils with the putrid smell– like rotten flesh mixed with faint hints of lemon and something else he couldn’t quite name. Some days, he wouldn’t even bother with the pesky intruder. Other days, he’d go straight to the burning despite the skulls catching on fire. He hates doing that the most. He could not stand seeing the scorch marks decorate his already vandalized throne, not to mention the awful stench of burnt bones.
Today, however, there was more than he could count. The flowers stretch like vines, its stems curling through the gaps and crannies of the skulls, until they cover almost 4 feet of the entire bottom area. They stretch outwards from there, through the crimson waters, dripping red. It was as if a whole flora started growing around the bottom of his skull throne. Even the rear end of the tower was decorated with awful whites and green. Sukuna could only raise a hand to his face when he found out.
There was no way he could get rid of them. They’d just keep coming back in more patches, growing more and mocking him of his uselessness.
He sighs, giving up. A very unlikely move for the King of Curses. He wasn’t a coward or someone who easily concedes defeat. A retreat is simply a tactic often underestimated, he’d argue. He wonders if he’d done the same if he were any younger. If he’d have abandon all hopes in exterminating his irritations when he was all-powerful. Impossible, he grits his teeth. He was far more impatient. He’d have rid of them every day till’ they no longer show themselves in his divine presence.
Gracefully ascending the skull tower, now decorated with the pathetic white flora, he sits on the space where his throne should be, on the more comfortable part where the horns do not face where his ass is supposed to sit. He continues to think. What fuckery this was. Which god did he have to challenge to rid himself of this unprompted mess? He closes his eyes, hoping peace would follow suit.
“Damn, you redecorating?”
He lets out an audible groan. So much for peace…
Sukuna held a palm to his face, rubbing his temples in circular motions with his thumb and middle finger. A killing spree sounds so tempting right now. Or he could fuck around with the other for a short while.
“Little shit,” Sukuna greets. He slumps, crossing his legs together. He sees the young shaman looking around the domain, examining the same flowers he had tried to burn and get rid of.
He briefly wonders if the brat was at fault for this.
“Nice flowers by the way, what kind are they?” Yuuji asks, plucking one of them from the lowest part of the tower, circling it in his hand like a cigar. He examines the reaped object, Sukuna doing the same to the sorcerer.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. And who says you can take one?” the curse jabs, as if he wasn’t trying to light the same damned plant on fire not too long ago. And let’s be honest, he wouldn’t let Yuuji grab a win, and make the flower a thorn in his massive and ever growing ego. Pun intended.
“Calm down, princess. It’s just one flower. You’ve like...plenty around,” the sorcerer jests, not really taking the threat as seriously. Was it bravery or foolishness? Sukuna thinks it’s an uneven mix of both. With more foolishness than courage that is. He was about to retort, say something about being called a princess. Because, how dare he? He was a King! A powerful one at that. He should be regarded as one. Yet Yuuji comes here and parades like Sukuna was the jester. He opens his mouth to speak, but the brat was quicker.
“Look! You’ve even got some on the spine’s rib cages!”
Are you kidding me…?
The curse looks to his left, and the young sorcerer was frustratingly right. On the walls of the rib-like bones, were the same white flowers growing like grapevines on a Greek column. They extend a good 5 feet from the ground, wrapped around them so elegantly.
Have they always been there? How has he never noticed? He’s getting really rusty if he never saw them.
“Seriously though, they’re like really beautiful,” the young shaman comments, smiling as he holds the stem delicately between his thumb and index. Sukuna almost gagged at the blatant display of affection. How disgusting.
“Gross,” the King mutters under his breath. The comment went unheard by the jujutsu student.
Yuuji treads through the mound of skulls, only stopping where the patch of white flowers end. Far too close to his throne, which was more than he would like it to be– if he even liked it at all.
He didn't even know why the brat was here, his intentions or whatever he wants.
A predacious look crossed him. He surveys the young shaman with careful eyes, not bothering to shift in his seat nor reprimanding him. He sat there, simply waiting for what the young sorcerer would do next.
If this were any other day, the jujutsu user would have received a hefty amount of beating. That or send the top half of his head– his apparent brain for lack of a better term– flying. But he doesn’t. Only because his curiosity has him in chokehold. And as far as the curse could tell, Yuuji was too.
“Is this even your doing?” Yuuji asks, now seated on one of the more stable skulls, horns protruding, catching the hem of the younger’s uniform.
“What makes you think it isn’t?” Sukuna answers– or challenged. It was difficult to differentiate. Anything was a challenge when it came to him.
“Dunno. You don’t seem the type to grow flowers out of nowhere and start decorating your place with it,” the sorcerer replies, plucking another white flower from the bunch. He has two in his hand now.
“Are you seriously questioning my taste in interior decoration?” Sukuna scoffs. He couldn’t understand why he even bothers entertaining the young sorcerer. He didn’t even have any intentions in talking at all. Somehow, this was more comfortable than acknowledging that the flowers were in fact, not his doing.
Yuuji laughs, a jubilant sound echoing through the space of his domain. He clicks his tongue at the noise. It was quite an infectious tune.
“No, no– not really. Just curious is all,” came his enthusiastic reply.
A wonderful idea graced Sukuna’s mind. He bends and picks up a shrimp-sized bone piece and chucks it at the sorcerer’s direction. It crashes perfectly against the younger’s head. He snorts as the brat realizes what he has done.
“Hey! What was that for?!” Yuuji whines, pouting as he rubs a soothing thumb over his head, right where he was hit. Sukuna supposes he was fine, it was a dull piece of bone anyway. He doubts it would leave a mark, or even a scratch for that matter.
“What are you doing here?” the curse asks instead, scrutinizing and cold. He picks up another piece and launches it at the sorcerer.
“Just bored–“Another headshot, “– seriously, dude. What the fuck's your problem? Stop it!” Yuuji grumbles, picking up the piece that was thrown at him and tossing it back. It lands pathetically at Sukuna’s feet.
“Jeez, and you even throw like a pussy,” the curse comments, kicking the piece. It strikes Yuuji’s head again, which earned him an angry “Hey!” from the younger. Sukuna can’t help the mocking laugh rise to his throat, and soon, he was doubling himself over in a guffaw. The poor miserable sorcerer, defeated by a mere piece of bone.
“Asshole,” Yuuji mutters, ignoring the curse, who relished in his distress. The young shaman instead carefully picks up another flower from the batch as Sukuna’s booming howl echoed in the background.
It wasn’t long before his laughter finally came to a slow halt. This was perhaps the most pleasure he had in a while, ever since whatever fucking day those flowers started to live in his domain– rent-free might he add. How long has it been? Weeks? Months maybe? He had been too busy burning bleak petals and stems to notice time passing.
“You’re so annoying, you know that?” Yuuji barks, shifting in his seat to face the curse. The pointed horn latched on the bottom of his uniform, creating a small tear as he moves. Not that it matters in this dreamscape-like place anyway. They’d be whole and new when he finally wakes.
“Everyone knows that,” he brags, leaning further back in his seat and lifting his head up to stare at the ceiling of his domain. The ghost of amusement clung to him, and he finds himself feeling somewhat at peace– or whatever the curse equivalent of it is. He ignores the irritated young sorcerer perched on the bottom of his tower, and watches the spine extend into the furthest depths of the space, possibly unending. This was nice. For a moment, he could pretend living his immortal life as he did during the Golden Age of Jujutsu. Just wiling away meaningless hours, tearing down kingdoms after kingdoms.
He closes his eyes and hums an old tune, something he has heard in his past life, enough to be remembered, though not enough to know if he was still human or a wandering curse. It has been too long, with thousands of years under his belt– maybe even more– after all, what is time to an immortal being?
But this was familiar, eerily so. He envisions a field of flowers and a fine song– when has he seen this before? It was a peaceful thought, or memory. In the open grounds, there he stands, surrounded by clear skies, blue and bright and everything his domain is not. Scattered along the earthy lands were flowers, not unlike the ones residing in his own space now. And there, he could smell the fresh aroma of earth and faint fragrance of lemon and jasmine.
He keeps humming, drowned in the sea of his own mind, listening to the song of the waters. He was submerged, but his lungs were full of air. How do you even describe tranquility to a being like him? No, how does a monster feel that human sentiment? He knows– everyone does.
His thoughts were vehemently broken off by the shuffling of feet and the popping sound of bones clashing and grinding against each other. The sound makes the hair of his skin stand.
“Fuck’s sake,” the curse groans, opening his eyes to see a pair of golden ones staring right back at him. “What do you want now?” he demands, locking the interrupted memory in the recesses of his mind, where he can simply open them for later.
The young shaman grins, standing behind his throne as his slump body continues to rest on the mound of skulls. The sight looks awkward, the positioning and everything about it was awkward. Yuuji does not say anything, does not even acknowledge his question with an answer. Rather, his smile grows– if that was even possible. If his grin were any wider, he would have looked like a maniac.
The sorcerer sniggers, raising a hand, covering the curse’s vision. Sukuna’s eyes widen before abruptly standing, only to be held back by an unknown object placed on his face. The action surprised him, and he found himself crashing against the snout of the bull-shaped skull, making the curse mutter obscenities.
“OI!” He thunders, sitting upright and violently ripping off whatever the hell Yuuji placed on him.
“Hey! Careful!” the sorcerer shouts, rushing over to him with a worried expression. He stares at the young shaman in surprise for a brief second, the worried look catching him off guard. Then he remembers what he did, and a scowl graced his features.
“Little shit, what did you do?” he roars, trampling his feet harshly on the heap of skulls. He faces the other who stood behind a pile.
“Nothing! Nothing, I swear!” Yuuji defends, raising both hands in surrender. “Just calm down, dude–“ The young shaman takes a step forward, “Look!” He points at the curse– or rather, where Sukuna’s hands are.
The King lets a sound– something of disappointment or frustration, maybe somewhere in between. He slowly brings his hands up to his face. There in his clutches he sees a ring of flowers, the same ones that Yuuji has been plucking off of the bottom of the skull pile. Did the little shit make this?
The ring was so it fits his head, almost like a crown. The stems were intertwined in a messy manner, but they look secured enough that they do not fall apart, even if he had brutally ripped them off. Though a few petals had fallen. The curse holds them closer to his face, examining the rather strange creation in his hands. He was sure he had seen something similar in his past life, but it was all a blur.
Sukuna hears the familiar crunching sound of skulls grinding, and he sees Yuuji approach him, standing mere inches apart from where he was. He watches the young shaman grab his occupied hands and trap them in Yuuji’s own so they were enclosed in the warmth of the younger’s skin. Slowly, Yuuji takes the crown away from him, and all the warmth of his hands along with the ring. He’d be lying if he says he never chased them back.
He didn’t move in his place. He just watched Yuuji delicately hold the crown as if it were a newborn child. The young shaman tried to fix the crooked parts of the ring, straightening out bent petals and bending stems so they don’t stick out. Once satisfied, the sorcerer lets out a massive grin– teeth and all.
“See?” Yuuji gestures to now-fixed ring of flowers, looking proud of his creation. Yuuji looks at the crown, and then at Sukuna, who only stares back at him. He wonders what the young sorcerer was thinking– if the flowers even held any meaning for him.
Before he could ask, Yuuji’s hands were on his head. Along with the ring of flowers that he had just put together.
“Ta-da!” The young sorcerer exclaims, hands expressively raised as if to say, look at what I just did!
“Now, you look like a proper king, don’t you think?” Yuuji quips, descending the throne a bit to better look at the Sukuna, who only stood there like a blithering idiot.
The curse did not know what to say, couldn’t even speak if he wanted to. He supposes a Thank you would have sounded right, but this is Sukuna we’re talking about. Instead what came out his mouth was a simple, “This is ridiculous. It’s stupid.”
Funnily enough, he couldn’t bring himself to remove the flower-shaped crown despite it.
“Oh come on now! I worked so hard on it,” Yuuji pouts, insisting.
“Yeah, and it’s still stupid.”
“Thank you would have been nice.”
“No.”
“Whatever,” Yuuji sighs, sitting down on the throne, on the place where Sukuna would usually sit. He lies down, head propped up by the supposed armrest– which was really just an elevated stack of skulls. His legs lay on the other side, where another elevated stack was placed. It wasn’t the most comfortable place, Sukuna knew. But it didn’t seem to bother him much. Neither did Yuuji.
Sukuna clicks his tongue at the brat’s brazen disrespect. Still, he did not reprimand him at all. Instead, he kicks the young sorcerer off to make space for him. Yuuji did not move without a whine escaping his lips, mumbling something about his mother saying it’s his turn on the throne– whatever that means. Stupid new generation of sorcerers and their stupid slangs.
“Move, you idiot!” He nagged, still pushing Yuuji off with the heel of his foot. Said idiot rolled over, making a space big enough for Sukuna to sit as well. The curse lounges on the given opening, sprawling out as he reclines on Yuuji’s stomach, careful not to get the delicate crown crushed underneath his weight. The back of his head lies on Yuuji’s upper body. He could hear the gurgling sound of the young shaman’s abdomen and he suppresses an amused chuckle.
“Do you just lie down here all day?” Yuuji interrupts, shifting to face Sukuna, who just slumped on him. The curse looks up to meet Yuuji’s curious eyes.
“There really isn’t much to do in the first place,” he answers, trying to nestle himself deeper on the younger’s body, finally finding a comfortable position to lie in– as comfortable as it gets when lying down on a pile of bones.
“Damn, that’s boring,” the young sorcerer comments.
“No wonder you’re so pissy all the time,” he adds.
The little shit–
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Sukuna retorts, feeling the same annoying sensation bubble up. Did this asshole of a sorcerer really just came into his domain, insult his taste in interior decoration, take up the space of his throne, and then throw some more insult? This brat truly is shameless.
“I mean, if I were you, I’d be pretty pissed off too if I had nothing to do all day,” Yuuji defends. As if Sukuna would accept that piss poor attempt of an excuse. “Even I wouldn’t want that.”
“Right…” Sarcasm dripped off him like honey.
“Besides, seems like you’ve got all that boredom in control,” Yuuji points a thumb to the white patches growing beneath his throne.
Sukuna’s eyes roll.
“The flowers are hardly my doing.”
“Really!?”
“You just questioned it earlier, you dumbass. Have the new generation of sorcerers drop their braincells sometime in my slumber?”
“I didn’t think you were joking!”
“Are you serious?” Sukuna’s mind blanks.
“Shit, you’re actually serious.” Is this idiot real? Is this shitty sorcerer really in his domain? Why has he allowed this– has he finally gone crazy?
“I don’t know?! You’re always messing with me– how could I tell?”
Okay. Point.
“Idiot,” Sukuna says instead, huffing a mock breath of relief. He closes his eyes once again, somehow feeling a whole lot more comfortable than he did minutes ago. He could feel Yuuji shift to accommodate him, and something threading through the locks of his pinkish hair. It was nice, he thinks, as recognizes the sensation. Yuuji’s fingers laced through the knots of some curls, straightening them back.
Sukuna hums as the sorcerer’s hand weaves gracefully, the crown now slightly tilted to his side.
“You know, those flowers really are beautiful,” Yuuji states, hand still roaming through pink locks.
“That so? What kind do you think they are then?” Sukuna asks, because in truth, he really did not know. He wants to see what Yuuji would think.
“They look like roses, but they don’t smell like one–“
“–I think that part was obvious.”
“–right. They’re white and they have this earthy, citrusy kind of smell.”
Sukuna opens his eyes and voices his agreement.
“Honestly, I don’t know either. I’m not big on flower names or kinds,” Yuuji admits. “But they look appealing at least. Definitely contrasts the whole horror vibes you got going on in your domain.”
“You’re really set on insulting my domain, are you?” Sukuna states more than asks. “Damned brat,”
Yuuji grins, a playful laugh escaping him.
“You live inside my head? Soul? I don’t know, so I should be saying something along the lines of mi casa es su casa, but you’ve taken up the whole space, so now I’m the intruder.”
“You’re my vessel. Nothing more than that.”
“That sounds awfully gay to me,” Yuuji snorts.
“Excuse me?” Sukuna warns, lifting a head up to stare at Yuuji, who only seems to have a playful smile plastered across his face. Everything about this was playful. When has he gotten comfortable to allow that? He’s beginning to wonder if the sorcerer is trying to cross borders he shouldn’t, or if years of being sealed has made him too lenient.
“No–thing~” he sang, twirling a strand of Sukuna’s hair in the sorcerer’s index. The crown has fallen off of him completely, lying there between his head and Yuuji’s abdomen. He lets it. Not like the brat would allow the crown to be smashed to broken petals and stems anyway, with all those pouting he was doing when he had almost ripped it off to shreds.
“Hey, mind if I sleep here for a bit?” Yuuji asks, straightening his leg in hopes that he wouldn’t wake up with a sore leg if he falls asleep. He lifts his torso carefully to move the other leg, gently holding Sukuna’s head in his palms. The curse couldn’t really tell if it was bravery or stupidity. Who else would have the guts to just… hold his head in their palms without suffering the consequences? Yet the brat manages to evade having his head sliced clean off.
“Whatever,” Sukuna mutters. There was no use in arguing, or telling no, not when he was so comfortable in this position. He contemplates if the sorcerer would allow him to summon him in his domain. Just to simply lie down on him as he lets Yuuji play with his hair.
He sneers. What an awful idea.
Where was his train of thought going? He didn’t like it.
With nothing else to do, and not wanting to indulge in his weird impulsive fantasies anymore, he stares at the patches of white flowers, scattered across the greens on the bottom of his skull tower. Somewhere along spending time with the annoying jujutsu student, he felt there was no need to burn nor get rid of them anymore.
Perhaps it was better to let them stay. After all, Yuuji was annoyingly right. His domain could do with a little redecorating.