#[[ I think I struck a good balance between 'edge' & 'chill' this time. All hail me ]]

[julies-butterflies]

Kiss prompt 25 with boggie (and maybe hinting toward Sickfic cause you know I love when these boys suffer 👀👀)?

50 types of kiss prompts  //   accepting!!  ( for jukebox, willex, reggielukejulie, boggie )

25.   Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

                         ( read on ao3 here! )

It says a lot about the current state of his life (and friend group) that when Bobby wakes in the dark to the soft echo of someone rummaging around in the loft, his first thought is not “someone broke in”, but “which one is it?”

Slowly, he pushes himself upright. While he doesn’t remember dozing off in the garage, the evidence is all around him. His back is stiff from dozing on the couch in an awkward position; his calculus textbook is still wide open on the table, the equations he only half-finished sitting next to it. Here’s Bobby’s first clue  ---  someone picked up his pencil, and made a few hasty, scribbled corrections in the margins, solving one of the problems he wasn’t able to get.

He’s also sure the blanket covering him now was folded on the other end of the couch before he passed out... and, leading from the doorway, a glistening trail of footsteps have tracked their way across the garage floor, leaving puddles along the way.

He sighs between his teeth, forcing himself to his feet. The trail leads across the floor, straight to the loft ladder. From the still-audible sounds coming from above  ---  not drowned out by the rain outside, which batters the windows and drums on the roof like the roar of a mosh pit  ---  the intruder hasn’t noticed he’s been noticed. Bobby takes care to keep quiet, ascending the ladder slowly. When he pokes his head through the floor, he has to squint to discern shadows through the dim light.

Sure enough --- there’s a dark figure burrowing around amid piles of junk. He’s wrestling with an old quilt buried at the bottom of one of the trunks, and losing. Even from a distance, Bobby can see the dark hair slicked against his temples, the water streaming from his sodden flannel to drench the wooden boards beneath him. He trembles in his damp clothes, shaky movements fueled by restless energy. No doubt, he didn’t realize how much noise he was making.

Bobby leans forward on his elbows, and rests his face against one palm. “For a second, I thought we had racoons. But racoons don’t usually stop to help with homework.”

The rustling stops cold. It’s a minute before Reggie turns; when he meets Bobby’s gaze, he looks like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“I, uhh ---” He huffs, then shrugs, sending off a hail of raindrops. “Figured since I was already breaking and entering, may as well pay you back somehow.”

“You know you don’t have to, Reggie.” Bobby folds his arms, balancing his chin on top of them both; his foot scuffs idly at the nearest ladder rung. This is far from the first time one of the guys has shown up at Bobby’s garage unannounced; since he never leaves the door locked anymore, it can hardly be called breaking and entering. There’s a makeshift bed up in the loft, and spare clothes in a duffel bag downstairs. They’re always welcome when they need it.

“Yeah...” The word comes out hoarse; Reggie has to clear his throat, ducking his face back into the shadows. “I know.”

A part of Bobby wants to ask  ---  but there’s no point, when he already knows the answer. When it’s Luke, it’s his mother; when it’s Alex, it’s his atmosphere; when it’s Reggie, the world is just too loud. I like how quiet it is here, he admitted once. It feels like a home. (A home, not his home  — there’s a big difference.)

So, instead of asking, he just shakes his head. “You could’ve called me. Or Alex. We’d have come to pick you up, instead of —”

“Alex hates driving on a good day. You want him to go out at night? In the middle of a rainstorm? All the way down to the beach, just to pick me up?”

There’s an edge of real frustration in his voice; and it’s Reggie, so that’s worrying, but Bobby’s own temper can’t help responding in kind. “Well, it’s better than you on your bike, freezing to death! Reg, you’re almost blue.”

For some reason, Reggie chuckles at that, ducking his head again. His sense of humor is as crooked as a wire hanger. Bobby’s learned not to question it, or try to follow the strange routes his mind goes down. With Reggie, it’s enough to just be along for the ride.

No matter how he got here, Bobby reminds himself, the important thing is, Reggie's here. He made it here, where he knows he’s always welcome… and there’ll be time to tear into him for his dumbass choices another day. Tonight, only three things are important: Reggie’s here, Reggie’s safe, and Reggie needs to get dry.

“You’re not sleeping in the loft,” Bobby declares, glancing around the dimly lit ceiling room. Aside from the cobwebs, it’s drafty and leaky up here; Reggie will catch a chill in a second, if he somehow hasn’t already. When Reggie opens his mouth to protest, Bobby just shakes his head, nodding downstairs. “The couch is more comfortable. Grab a blanket, okay? And go through what we’ve got — you gotta change out of those wet clothes.”

For just a second, a smile flickers over Reggie’s face — there one minute, gone the next. He doesn’t say anything, only nods… but Bobby reads his relief clear as day, and his gratitude.

It’s enough.

(No, it’s not — but he can’t change his friends’ shitty lives, he can’t protect them from the world, so it has to be enough.)

Bobby slips back downstairs, and busies himself making the couch comfortable. It pulls out easily into a bed; there are pillows tucked behind it for rainy days just like this one. He folds the blanket that had been tossed over him, and clears some of his papers off the table, just to chase away the clutter. By the time the loft ladder creaks, a few minutes later, the couch is as cozy as it will ever get.

Bobby turns, and almost sighs in relief at the sight of Reggie — in dry clothes, a grey t-shirt and dark sweatpants that hug his bony hips. Bobby never likes to think about how thin Reggie is… but when it’s presented to him like this, so intimately, there’s no way to ignore it. (Home cooked meals, he suspects, are as rare in the Peters household as a trip to Disneyworld; no wonder Reggie inhales any food they put in front of him.) He still looks pale, skin paper white and washed out in the gloom. Though he’s run fingers through his hair, it’s still wild, flyaway hairs clinging to his brow. He hasn’t completely stopped shivering, either, but at least he’s settled down. 

“Here,” Bobby says, nodding to the couch. He can’t help cursing himself; clearly, his bedside manner deserves awards.

Reggie isn’t bothered. He just steps forward, that ghost of a smile back on his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and says nothing more. When Bobby steps aside for him, he settles on the couch, tucking the blanket  around him. Immediately, like a leaf tossed into a windstorm, he starts shivering again. Bobby grimaces.

“So, when you catch pneumonia, is the plan to just ride it out, or…?”

Reggie glances up at him. His expression steals the words from Bobby’s mouth. There are dark circles under his eyes, standing out all the more in his pale face; his lower lip is bitten raw, flushed and sore, and hands fiddle restlessly in his lap.

“Bobby,” he mutters, and something in his voice is… desolate. So absolutely freaking tired... drained and defeated... so wrong for a person like Reggie, who is made of enthusiasm. He’s the bubble of soda in a glass, the dancing blaze of a sparkler, the crackle of a firework, the lilt of a bass line. Reggie is alive in living color… and tonight, the rain has washed it all away.

Something in Bobby’s stomach twists. His heart rattles against the cage of his ribs. Impulse spikes within him, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he has already settled onto the couch at Reggie’s side, and opened his arms wide.

“Okay. Bring it in.”

Reggie’s eyes widen. Touching isn’t Bobby’s thing. It’s Luke’s, sure, and even Alex’s. They’re both all about that casual affection, with too much love to be contained. Bobby shows his affection in quieter ways — a steadying hand, a late night drive, paying for take-out when he knows his friends’ pockets are light. He’s never been sure how to handle all the touching which comes with the package, with the Sunset Curve boys; he’s never known how to start.

Tonight, though, Reggie’s here, and he needs it. So, just for tonight, Bobby is officially a hugger.

“Come on,” Bobby encourages; and that’s all the prodding Reggie needs to gently tuck himself against his friend’s chest.

He doesn’t expect how well Reggie fits there, like a puzzle piece naturally slotting into place. He knocks the breath from his lungs without trying; even as long arms come to wrap around his chest, and a damp head ticks against his collarbone, it takes Bobby a minute to adjust. Yes, he asked for this — he reminds himself of that, as his own arms come up to wrap Reggie in an embrace — but Reggie’s so much better at it, and he’s not sure where to go from here.

“Bobby,” Reggie mutters into his chest. “You have to relax a little, otherwise how’m I supposed to?” He tilts his head up. “I’m the half-frozen one here, but you’re like hugging a scarecrow.”

Bobby snorts. Reggie looks up a little more. His eyes shine dark in the dim studio light as his brows furrow. “Do you not want me to —“

Bobby hushes him with a shake of his head, and pulls Reggie closer, tucking the blanket around them both. Slowly, he leans back against the couch. It seems like the thing to do to relax — and Reggie agrees, if the soft noise of contentment he makes is any clue. He’s still shivering a bit against Bobby’s chest; his voice carries an ominous rasp, and whenever he breathes out, it sounds unsteady. Bobby brushes against his bare arm, and is immediately struck by how cold Reggie still is; even holding him like this, the chill begins to seep into his own skin.

Bobby will soak up every ounce of it, if it means Reggie can be comfortable again.

So, he pulls Reggie close, rubbing a hand up and down his back in broad, earnest circles. He breathes out against the crown of Reggie’s head, hot and repetitive; a few times, he even rocks him, just to get the blood flowing back through his limbs. Reggie doesn’t protest. He barely even moves. It takes a while for their legs to tangle together under the blankets. His arms tuck under Bobby’s; his ear comes to rest over his heart. Slowly, his entire body curves into Bobby’s own, ravenous for any ounce of heat a warmer form can provide.

Even as he does this, he seems to melt, and Bobby knows — just knows — this is the first chance he’s had to really relax in days.

“Exhale, Reg,” he murmurs without meaning to. When Reggie stirs against him, meeting his gaze with furrowed brows, Bobby is suddenly relieved he’s never been able to blush. (Compared to Reggie, who could gauge the weather by the color in his cheeks.)

Still locked into his gaze, Reggie breathes out, in one long gust. It chills Bobby’s jaw.

“You’re so cold,” he mutters.

“Not anymore,” answers Reggie. “Not with you.”

He’s left a damp patch against the front of Bobby’s shirt, and his hair’s still wet. As Bobby watches, a droplet trails its way down his temple, stopping just as it reaches his ear. Before Bobby can think twice, he brushes it away with one gentle hand… and allows his fingers to linger over Reggie’s jaw a second too long before pulling away.

Reggie isn’t staring into Bobby’s eyes anymore. He’s hypnotized by his lips.

And well, Bobby reasons, there’s no better way to warm him up.

That's his justification for not feeling like a horrible person, when he leans in and captures Reggie’s lips with his own.

There’s nothing forceful about it, nothing demanding; the last thing Bobby wants is to take, only to give what little warmth he can. Yet as Reggie stays frozen against him for a moment too long, an icicle of dread pierces Bobby’s chest. He’s just begun to pull away, an apology already on the tip of his tongue, when Reggie suddenly catches him by the back of the neck with one icy hand, pulling him back down.

Bobby’s breath catches; Reggie catches him. For a minute, it’s all either of them can do to be near each other, moving with and against each others’ mouths in slow, earnest rhythm.

Heat? Oh, no — heat isn’t a problem anymore.

When they finally pull back, Reggie’s lips are flushed, his cheeks bright red — there it is, Bobby thinks, with a flash of victory. His breath is heavy against Bobby’s chest, but there’s a smile on his lips all the same.

“I mean,” he says, and pauses for a breathless chuckle, “yeah, sure, that works too.”

Just as Bobby begins to smile, Reggie suddenly jerks forward. His laugh turns into a gasp — and then he’s coughing hard against Bobby’s collar, entire body heaving with it. It’s all Bobby can do to steady him, keeping one hand on his shoulders as he struggles to catch his breath, until the worst of it has passed.

“Damn it,” he mutters, once Reggie has gone limp again. “You’re totally gonna get me sick.”

“I’ll try not to,” Reggie offers generously against his collarbone.

“No, you won’t,” Bobby replies, knowing it’s probably too late already — and also, that he doesn’t really care, so long as he can keep Reggie warm and dry through the night.

When Reggie lifts his head to smile at him, Bobby brushes the rain out of his hair, and grins right back.

[arastiia]

name of your muse: Satsuki Kiryuin

few pictures you like best of your muse’s fc:

two headcanons you have for your muse that you never told anyone:

Satsuki actually cut her hair short TWICE in her life. The first time was supposed to mark the beginning of her ‘crusade’ / active plotting again her mother -- after overcoming her grief (triggered by her father’s death) & coming to terms with the fact that her mother was not her ‘friend’ but TRULY the monster Soichiro had warned her about, young Kiryuin, hardly eight years old, chopped her long hair off with a blunt kitchen knife (Bakuzan was yet to heavy to be wielded or drawn) down to chin length. Given her lacking strength, the cut hair looked rather ungainly & enraged Ragyo GREATLY (what indirectly prompted her second scar). -- back then, Satsuki secretly swore that she would never shorten her mane again UNTIL her father & dead baby sister would find peace at last. This resulted in her hair having an approx. length of 110-115 cm during the events of KLK. Later & after the events of the OVA (episode 25), Satsuki cut her hair down to chinlength once more. This time to signify the actual end of her ‘war’. In both cases, the traditional ‘cutting of hair’ of course also refered to the end of an old life & the start of a new one.

Satsuki has a hard time finding/picking fitting clothes for herself post-KLK; having been ‘forced’ to wear uniforms since the day she entered junior high, Satsuki never truly showed any interest in clothing & fashion per se. To her, it is merely a means to an end (visble in the way she adresses Junketsu) & perhaps even a symbol of oppression since Ragyo some day decided to make her wear form-fitting attire only -- with now having a free choice, Satsuki appears LOST more oft than not. In fact, Nonon Jakuzure oftentimes ends up helping her with general outfits which is probably the reason why she feels best whenever drapped in suits or other business clothing. Most of her attire is loose, plain, neat & concealing. -- she furthermore developed an aversion to any form of tight fabric.

three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

Reading. Having been a fan of books since her father died, Satsuki can rarely be seen without any form of heavy literature or novel in her free time. Aside from common, anthropologic & philosophic novels, Satsuki is also a cherisher of European 18th/19th century works (late classicism, Enlightenment, early Romanticism, Romanticism) & of course Asian literature/history. The first applies to her sense of rationality/rationalism but also introduces the idea of a more humanitarian approach & plenty of philosophical mindsets (sensitization, etc) which she studies for the sake of ‘becoming more human’ / ‘getting a better understanding. The latter is something she does for her leisure. Satsuki is a clandestine fan of history drama/poetry after all.

Sparring/Training/Meditating. A hobby frequented back in Honnouji & her entire childhood in general. Whenever Satsuki had time to spare, she would pick up Bakuzan &/ or bamboo swords/other training weapons for the sake of perfecting her skill (learning how to dual wield,etc). She could also often be seen training with Gamagori (melee techniques) & Jakuzure (weaponized combat with smaller & lighter swords) when her sensei was not around. After the events of KLK, Satsuki started ‘reviving’ that hobby as soon as her body allowed that much. Especially meditating provided some relaxion & inner rest (post-OVA). Physical training itself generated distraction, established a new routine (which she direly needed after losing Honnouji/her purpose) & exhaustion which furthermore (sometimes) helped her to find sleep. It is, however, safe to say that she dropped sparring / training after becoming CEO of REVOCs (lacking time & physical impairments being the biggest reasons) -- Ryuko is in fact the only one she nowadays spares with.

Cooking. Something that may indeed come off as surpising; after the events of KLK, Satsuki invested quite some time in rebuilding her relationship to her butler Soroi (so as to no longer see him as a servant but more as the father-figure he has been all along). This resulted in both often cooking meals together in the afternoon / morning whenever Satsuki’s condition allowed that much. Since Kiryuin lacks general knowledge about said matter, she gladly spent her time with learning all Soroi had to offer.

seven people that your muse loves/likes: Soichiro Kiryuin, Ryuko Matoi ( @matoiii & @vcgabcnd ), Nonon Jakuzure ( @gloriatiia ), Shiro Iori ( @alsuetiius ), Ira Gamagori ( @moralistiius ), Uzu Sanageyama, Houka Inumuta & Aikuro Mikisugi ( @iuvelatiius ).

two things your muse regrets:

Manipulating / Hurting Ryuko. Albeit knowing far too well that her sister does not bear any grudges, the mere idea of being the one responsible for a lot of sibling’s misery oft makes looking at cherished other rather difficult. To her, the act of actually ‘molding’ / manipulating (& thus abusing) Ryuko into shape equals the cruel atrocities Ragyo committed (after all that was exactly what her mother did to her aswell). -- it is a thing she will probably never truly forgive herself no matter how adamant Ryuko is when it comes down to letting this ‘debt’ drop. 

Abusing Those Close to Her. Satsuki moreover truly regrets treating especially her devas so poorly. Even if she is aware that neglected favoritism & deconstructed platonic bonds ensured her elite’s survival during Ragyo’s reign, the fact that she prompted (i.e) Sanageyama’s self-mutilating, Gamagori’s suicide attempt & Jakuzure’s minority complex still haunts her. Of course she is aware of her devas’ opinions in that matter (& gladly accepts them). -- it does however not lower the amount of remorse she feels for dragging all five of them & the rest of Honnouji through the dirt. Partially the reason why Satsuki spends a lot of time with ensuring former students’ furture & well-being by the help of her inherited wealth & why she decided to lead a rebuilt REVOCs in the first place. -- to pay for her / her family’s sins & re-establish the lives she indirectly destroyed.

one phobia your muse has:

Fear of Failure. Despite always having been confident/dead-set & determined when it came down to her ambitions, Satsuki had her moments of doubt in the past. The fear of not being able to heed her father’s call, fear of not being strong enough to keep carrying on, fear of breaking due to Ragyo’s acts of violence. In fact, Satsuki was afraid of failing, afraid what would happen if her spine would break beneath the figurative weight of the world -- she never let it show, never let it get the better of her but the looming sentiment of doubt / ‘what if-scenarios’ always existed in the back of her head (pre- / during KLK).

Fear of Becoming like her Mother. Not truly a phobia but definitely a FEAR worth mentioning. This sort of anxiety already took root after escaping captivity. After being forced to confront herself with the atrocities committed, Satsuki realized that she had been no better than her loathed mother. Ragyo’s entire influence & the fact that she applied HER METHODS (mostly in a figurative sense) kept on haunting her even after her apology & the following acceptance on Ryuko’s/Devas’ behalf. -- this of course got worse post KLK. Due to not only bearing Ragyo’s genes, the Kiryuin surname, being responsible for wealth, mansion, company & a lot of physical similarities , Satsuki (who still sees herself as a tool / experiment & thus not truly human) has a hard time a) forgetting what she did & b) determining who she actually is. The fact that Ryuko bears a different name & general identity devoid of her own influences does not help either. There are times in which she clearly dissociates herself from her sister & her own father (another critical aspect of the ‘truth’ which she has troubles sorting out) simply because their presence / partial survival / true identity appears far too surreal. Satsuki sometimes feels as if her dwelling in Ryuko’s proximity alone will do her sibling harm. -- to her, nothing is more painful than staring at the mirror & seeing not herself but some imperfect carbon copy of her mother (post KLK/OVA). 

tagged by: @vcgabcnd (a yyyyyyye this was fun damn) tagging: those I tagged up above + @absolutiia, @fukainoumi, @emoticlysm, @goreshroom, @henhawks, @aevyternal / @vantrece (you can choose), @vacillatus, @dmnswrd, @imberus, @eyethief & @cinderella-esque.