Chapter Text
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ajOzkP_9zEE&feature=youtu.be
Prince Ryomen Sukuna, heir to the kingdom of darkness, built on crushed skulls and boat rides on human blood, does not enjoy simple, quaint things. His favourite coloure is abysmal, haunting black.
When he leaves the kingdom, he is on a hunt.
He rides a black horse, rippling with muscle and coated in skeletal armour. He charges with it, through two storms for days on end, until his eyes are like coal and his teeth as tight as bricks. Nothing but the promise of misery and regret keeps him going. His blood runs through his veins, body pumping for his violent kill.
It began when his instinct informed him that someone strong had settled nearby. It grew when rumours of this foreign strength slip into his court through whispers and rumours. It became a tumult when eight of men were killed by it.
Now, it will end with his own two hands around their throat. He imagines it's what they want, provoking him for his attention. It's not the first time the bloodthirsty have vyed for him like this. He just hopes it will offer a fun fight.
Seeing the village come into focus, is like having the scent of a kill waft into his nose.
Sukuna strikes down like a demon.
He is a creature of flesh, yet of myth. Everyone around knows of his existence, but many brush it off as folklore. He hides among the townspeople in plain sight, a master at manipulating himself into the appearance of ordinary men.
But if one drew to close, they would feel sickened to their gut by the look in his eyes. They will be overcome with the sense that something is painfully wrong, a warp in their perception of the world, tilting it to its side.
He tours through the village stalking out his prey. He crosses roads and stone paths, remebering towers to topple and wells to cram to the brim with rotting corpses. Further out, he slashes the necks off of some dainty red flowers, letting petals cascade onto the grass the way blood will soon spill.
The sorcerer has not come to greet him though.
Without him, it's an infuriating village like mud. Its people are dirt. Weak bugs. All the buildings are too low and too submerged in flowers and natural wood. He wishes to burn it.
He imagines a blaze of red will give give foreign sorcerer a fright. That would yank him out of hiding.
And the low, thatched rooftop of the building ahead would make a perfect start.
He bolts over the low river and storms up the flower banks, inclined on the hill and raising his hand, already grinning at the terror about to come-
However, he is caught in the act. He is frozen, by a pair of bewitching green eyes, staring up at him, a little wide with shock.
He hadn't even noticed the boy.
Yet he looks back with innocuous eyes, like he'd always been right there.
They are lime green, framed with streaks of tall grass and yellow sunflowers. They stare from a young face, delicately pale and handsome, and outlined by the most striking rendition of his favourite colour he's ever seen.
Suddenly, the Great Prince of darkness is frozen still. He is overcome with emotion. He feels the world spin on its hinges, toppled from the inside out by a flurry of butterflies in his stomach that turns his face hot.
The beautiful stranger opens his plump pink mouth.
It's too much. It's too terrifying! The thought of him adding words to the already lethal onslaught of his beauty drives Sukuna over the edge with fear.
He's out of his depth here. There is no way he can win!
The horse whinnies and jolts up onto its back legs over any words, turning on It's heel and charging back into the forest with just as much zeal as with what it came.
Sukuna sends heaps of gold to those with news of his Infatuation and slashes the knuckles of artists who fail to paint his likeness.
Yet his rage is quelled by the distinct feeling of nervous butterflies wobbling from his legs to his heart when he remembers encountering him.
He is naturally furious by this turn if events.
He has never felt something lovely in his life. Now here he is, lying on his bed of bones, thinking about the green eyes that looked at him in an alluring mix of stoicism and wonder. It's not enough to simply dream of the encounter.
He visits specialists and tries to have any enchantment technique dispelled.
He is still spellbound by nought but a memory by the end of the night.
Soon, he is forced to revisit the town on a quieter horse with a cautious black hood draped over his hair. His head is held high of course, his chin raised up and pride as solid as the mountains. Though, he delights and fears the moment their eyes will meet again, and his admiration will reset.
He decides then that he must have him. That he will have him. That he will invite him over for a meal.
Thus he finds himself entangled in the flowers and watching as his Infatuation wades in water, navel deep. He is bare. Nothing in the world could have prepared Sukuna for the sight. Not the way he reacted to it, choosing stealth and observation. He finds he needs to see this.
The sunlight catches on speckles of blue, pink and yellow flower petals. It takes a fragment of colour from each, draping the naked outlines of pale skin in more than white. Sukuna is admittedly enraptured by the particular colour of his skintone. By how it makes the darkness of his hair stand out. By how it shines through the clear water at his hips, not enough to make out clear outlines, just smears of rippling magnolia on the water surface. It has red eyes narrowing in flushed concentration, determined to make out some detail...
The sorcerer swivels, water sloshing. He has a black beast of a dog swimming towards him as he bathes, welcoming him with happy pants and barks. He takes it into his arms and nuzzles his equally black hair into its deep fur and bestows its honoured head with a kiss.
Sukuna is so hot with envy, a grunt of displeasure escapes him before he knows what's done.
The boy snaps, fast and lethal with his deadly eyes locked on exactly where Sukuna awaits, like he wasn't a top predator, concealed in the flowers from view. It sends a bolt through him that makes his knees weak.
It sends the predator running, his mind, encapsulated and entranced all over again by the same, powerful eyes.
"What are you doing?!"
Sukuna jerks his head, glowering down with venomous might at one Noritoshi Kamo that dared address him.
His nails scrape impatiently.
"Will you ask again, or I will I be eating chunks of you from my claws?"
It's spoken with a rumble even a lion would falter at. The wicked sorcerer winces, like he didn't snatch disfigured demon foetuses from their mother's bloody wombs. He replaces his disgruntled shock with the appropriate reverence. Even though he is a lying snake, he at least peforms submission well.
"My apologies King of darkness... I just... find myself curious as to your recent behaviour..?"
Said King of destruction and chaos, is laying in a flowerbed.
He'd been rolling in the cornflowers and buttercups, enjoying the way they tickled his skin like seeing his Infatuation tickled his chest. He'd twisted in it, cat-like, gazing up at the skinny leaves and thinking of the superior green of a certain set of eyes. He'd imagined his Infatuation's reaction to receiving a wreath or crown of pretty pink foxgloves, making himself giddy at just the thought of those pretty eyes looking right back at him. In confusion? In honour? In delight.
It tickles him to imagine it. He'd imagined lining up the colour to compare it with the boy's gentle lips.
Sukuna sits upright, catching himself.
"I'm thinking of... corruption."
"Yes..?"
"Of... the beauty of flowers... how much potential that gives their destruction. Yes! Of the brutality of flowers. Flowers dunked in wretched blood."
"I see, your highness. I didn't realise one such as yourself could enjoy flowers so well."
A devious gleam finds the prince's eyes. Then before the other can blink, a single flower stem as launched at him, at speeds so extreme, something as feeble as it tears through the sorcerer's throat, leaving a deep, thin wound. Blood starts to spurt. He chokes, rushing away with both hands there, chased away by Sukuna's deep, maniacal laugh.
Then the King sinks back into the flowers, thinking that the smell of lilacs take him back in time, to watching the beautiful boy that day.