#frostwinds

@frostwinds / toji & megumi.

it’s weird having his father back in his life.  no, not weird.  more like ... 

“annoying,” megumi glares, cutting and cold — a carbon copy.  he has no interest in the man who left him and his sister for the majority of his life.  no interest in the man who couldn’t bother and carelessly named him ‘megumi’.  if toji thinks he’s interested in making up for lost time, then he’s dead wrong.  after all, it’s like gojou sensei said — you always die alone.

and just because his father also happens to be a teacher doesn’t mean he has to respect him either!  maybe what pisses him off more than anything is the fact that toji is undeniably talented.  in fact, the man is a monster, capable of disarming and maiming any opponent in the blink of an eye.  he used to think maki-san’s physical prowess was terrifying, but his father is on a completely different level.

no doubt that pisses maki-san off too, but she seems eager to learn anyway.  traitor.

every night, just before bed, ningguang watches the north star from atop her shining balcony.  from above, she has a perfect view of the night ocean, dark and glimmering, full of smaller stars and city lights.  she sits at the edge, not sure what she’s looking for, not sure what she expects to see, but she watches and waits anyway, scanning the horizon and enjoying the cool night breeze until her eyes grow heavy with sleep.

well, that’s not true now, is it?  ningguang knows exactly who she hopes to see.

even as a distant dot across the vast ocean, ningguang would know.  she knows that woman’s ship intimately like the back of her hand.  she knows that woman intimately like the back of her hand.  ( or does she?  that woman surprises her every day — what an unpredictable storm ).  thunder and lightning seems to follow her wherever she goes, cracking at her heels like obedient dogs as if nature’s storms are hers and hers only to wield.

what a grand show-off.

( begrudgingly, ningguang admits she’s a little impressed and wonders if that woman dreams of her too ).

but there are no ships approaching her harbor tonight.

all is calm in her city.  merchants sleep fitfully, dreaming of tomorrow’s deals and earnings.  children sleep soundly, not a care in the world, dreaming of fantastic wonders only whimsical youth can provide.  “sleep well, all,” ningguang whispers to her slumbering city below, eyes softening, impossibly fond before she turns away from her window to retire for the night too.

not at all concerned, she leaves the window slightly ajar to welcome the sweet breeze into her bedchambers.  some fresh air is good for the skin, after all.

but hours after she falls prey to sleep, ningguang wakes up in the middle of the night, broad hand suddenly clapped over her mouth and she startles, quickly assessing the situation and discovering that her hands have not been bound.  ready to counter, she prepares her cast, but the identity of her attacker soon dawns on her.

after all, she would recognize her calloused hands and the sea-salt scent of her hair anywhere.

beidou.

“you,” ningguang gasps, ungracefully smacking away the pirate’s hand, “wait a moment.”  her brow furrows — visible disapproval and exasperation.  such is only typical when dealing with beidou.  “what have you done with my guards, pirate?”

“you’ll find new ones,” beidou shrugs, not bothered in the slightest, vaguely amused by ningguang’s sour countenance more than anything.

ugh, of course.  of course!  why did she dream of seeing this insufferable woman again?

rolling her eyes, ningguang turns over, spitefully facing away from the pirate captain to try and catch at least a couple of hours of sleep if she’s lucky.  tomorrow’s a big day.  more mora to add to the pot, more deals, more —

“i’ve come all this way and you’re just going to ignore me?”

before she can reply, ningguang feels strong arms wrap around the little of her waist, but makes no move to move.  obviously, she’s had a long day and she’s far too comfortable to move.  it has very little to do with the fact that beidou is warm.  very, very, very little.

@kaigyokus + @frostwinds / nanami & shoko.

between nanami's long legs, shoko sits leisurely in the bath. summer sunlight pours in through the open window, reflecting a soft glow on the water's surface. it's hot today — a sweltering, sticky day where ordinarily, skin to skin contact would be unbearable, but she doesn't mind. maybe it's the cool water, maybe it's the company. after all, it's quite rare for nanami to indulge her.

"what are you thinking about?" she hums, not daring to look behind her. she doesn't want to know what kind of expression he's wearing. maybe she doesn't even want to know what he's thinking, but she should fill the silence with something. leaning against his broad chest, she can feel his body heat radiate from his warm skin, pressed against her small back. she can feel every steady breath he takes. inhale, exhale. without intending to, she finds herself breathing with him in unison. inhale, exhale.

terrifying how easily she follows his pace. terrifying yet is how natural it feels.

shoko wonders how many times nanami regrets saying 'yes' to her. does it rival the amount of times he said no? she wonder what he thinks of her. or does he not think of her at all? she wonders how many times nanami tells himself that this will be the last time only to inevitably break his promise to himself again. she wouldn't blame him, no — of course, she'd understand. after all, she tells herself the same thing every time. are they doomed to repeat this cycle forever?

does it matter at all?

inhale, exhale.

@kaigyokus + @frostwinds / toji & hotaru.

when hotaru goes to bed, she goes to bed alone, shamelessly enjoying the full width of her bed without having to share it with anybody. she sleeps well, long past the days of worrying where or what her husband, toji, is doing. of course she cares, but toji’s like a feral cat, having known what it’s like to be outside for too long. she doesn’t blame him for that. but really, the least he could do is call, hmph.

when hotaru wakes up, it’s warm. sunlight streams through the open window, lighting up the bedroom and beside her is toji nestled close to her, strong arm thrown loosely over her waist, sound asleep.

huh.

she glances at the open window and sighs. figures.

“quit moving,” toji grumbles, idly patting hotaru’s entire face with his hand in an attempt to get her to settle before sidling closer like a needy cat, slowly drifting off to sleep again.

hotaru makes a face, catching his thick wrist and putting his arm back where it came from. lying on her side, she studies toji and he looks well, all things considered. maybe tired, but aside from that, he doesn’t have any visible injuries from what she can tell, which means his latest gig was no doubt successful. holding a soft breath, she reaches out with her fingertips to gently trace the jagged scar across his lips.

“hotaru.”

unable to help herself, she snorts. alright, alright, she’ll stop and let him sleep. with a lazy yawn, she slips her arms around toji and very indulgently rests her head on his pillowy chest. heavenly blessed, indeed!

but soon enough, she falls back asleep, smiling, tangled with toji’s arms and legs, and neither of them wake up until early noon.

@kaigyokus + @frostwinds / utahime & shoko.

"mine?" shoko laughs, resting on her side, "but you're the singer."

shoko has never thought much of her own voice, has never thought much of voices in general, but she'll never forget the first time she heard utahime sing.

destruction and harmony hand in hand.  such dulcet clarity.  a voice that could sway even the hardest of hearts to do anything.  a voice men would go to war for.  after all, men have gone to wars for less.

it was then shoko understood the meaning of her name.  'singing princess'.  sometimes, she wonders how utahime's parents simply knew.  sometimes, she wonders if there was ever any other choice.

fucking sorcerers.

comfortable in bed, shoko idly brushes a stray lock of hair behind utahime's ear with a content little hum.  "say, utahime," she contemplates, "did you always want to be a singer?  as a kid, did you ever want to be anything else?"

well, maybe not.  what child didn't dream of becoming a famous idol or a princess at least once?  still, she doubts any child fantasizes about becoming a jujutsu sorcerer.  shoko certainly didn't.

hell, she didn't even want to be a doctor.

"i wanted to be a mermaid princess," she confesses with a dramatic sigh, but she can't maintain the despondency for long, breaking into a short little laugh almost immediately.  "wasn't a real career unfortunately.  my parents laughed at me, told me to grow up.  isn't that so mean?" shoko chuckles, idly petting utahime's pretty hair with quiet admiration.  utahime could be anything she wanted to be, she's sure of it.  she could be a doctor, she's clever enough for it.  she could be a hell of a singer.  not the battling kind, but the kind that stands on a world stage, admired by everyone across the internet.  fans would die for her.  shoko would attend every single fan meeting and ...

she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around utahime, holding her close and drinking in the warmth of her body pressed near hers.  she doesn't want to ever let go.  "i think you would've been the prettiest mermaid princess."

@frostwinds / sukuna & akihiko.

“quiet,” sukuna commands, “or else they’ll catch us.”

boxed into a corner with little idea of what’s going on, akihiko tenses, but he doesn’t need to be told twice.  … especially when sukuna firmly clamps his hand over his mouth.  so, really, he has little choice in the matter.

all akihiko wants to know is what the hell sukuna is doing at the noble’s estate at this late hour.  didn’t his friend promise him he would spare these people and leave them alone?  with a scowl, he remembers the way sukuna peered at the noble’s daughter in the window — a pretty girl of nineteen summers, blossoming with youth.  the kind of girl lesser men would die fighting wars for, dreaming of winning her affection.  a girl to treasure forever.

coincidentally, also sukuna’s favorite course set.  a delight for a night and bird bones by morning.

the thought angers akihiko in more ways than one.  ‘you bastard’, he glares, trembling, knowing sukuna can understand him wordlessly, knowing sukuna knows him like the back of his hand, ‘you promised me you wouldn’t come.’

but sukuna’s expression is unchanged.  stony-faced like a faraway god, sukuna merely breathes, lying in wait, with one hand covering akihiko’s mouth and the other pressed to his chest, fingertips firm and demanding against his sternum.  sukuna is calm, handsome features ever more stark by the moonlight.  he shields akihiko with the broad bulk of his mass, casting him into shadow, and the very air surrounding him seems to sizzle.

it is hot this time of year, but typically, the nights are more forgiving, more cool, but tonight simmers, threatening to boil over.  there is a cloying sweetness in the warm breeze.

akihiko’s heart pounds like war drums.  his blood roars in his ears, howling for something he doesn’t want to admit.

miserable, he looks away, but sukuna’s gaze follows.  after all, sukuna knows him like the back of his hand.  it’s as if nothing else in the world matters, as if there is nobody else in the world.

it’s too much weight to bear.

akihiko is quiet, secretive by nature, but sukuna doesn’t care.  secrets are not allowed.

“i’ve never met anyone quite like you, akihiko.”

he knows.  and yet, he isn’t sure why he startles like a virgin when he feels a warm tongue lick into his mouth.  it’s not the first time akihiko has witnessed the demon’s abilities, but it’s his first kiss — a luxury he thought he would never get to know because of the path he chose, because of the village he left behind.  

it feels good.  it feels terrible.

grimacing, akihiko tries to shove sukuna away, tries to push his hand off his face, but he can’t move him, forced to endure his first kiss stolen by a demon with a tongue in his hand.  and yet, how often has akihiko dreamed about this moment?  all too often, these days, it feels like akihiko wakes up in a sticky mess, thin fabric clinging to his sweaty form after a night of wild imaginary bliss.  behind sukuna’s hand, he whines, hot tongues entwined together, knees threatening to buckle, able to endure unimaginable pain, but he was never trained to endure even the slightest pleasure.

it feels good.  it feels terrible.

“they’re gone,” sukuna says, without batting an eye, motioning with his head, “let’s leave.”

finally, air!  gasping for breath, akihiko covers his own mouth, struggling to process his first kiss.  once upon a time, he imagined sharing it with the fisherman’s daughter.  now, he can’t even remember what her face looks like.  “fuck you,” he hisses, punching sukuna in the shoulder before following him to make their escape.  “don’t do that again,” he groans, ignoring the throbbing need in his lower hips.

hell.