Please note: I haven't played the game since like early last year/late 2023. So if Casper is too ooc/ this sucking, my bad. I will replay the game again soon. I missed my reaper ngl.
I think Casper would hold a grudge against you if you left for too long. Like the chat logs, is one thing. Sure you go to bed, maybe you had work, or perhaps an assignment to finish. But when he lives with you, eats the same food as you, shares a routine with you?
You even have the privilege of holding/cuddling Azrael. So how dare you, how dare you leave for over an hour to get dinner for the both of you and leave Casper staring at a ceiling.
In his mind, he is terribly upset, but in reality, he's touch-starved and loves you too much. Casper now can barely go an hour without seeing you in sole capacity. He's already texted you 5 times to "check" on you. Lying in your bed, talked to your animal companion, even swore how "annoyed" he was. But nope, he just missed your warmth.
"Come back to me sunshine...you feel so far away." He'd whisper against your pillow, it felt like you, smelt like you, but wasn't you. So it will do for now.
When did you come home? 2 hours later. That's it. You enter your apartment and see the a grim reaper flat on your bed, curled up and sulking. "Drama quren." You muttered. (This isn't the first time)
But you set thr bags down and came up beside him on the bed, moving a white strand of ghostly hair aside from his beautiful face. Your lips press a kiss to his cheek whispering a small apology for being gone so long, some excuse about traffic. "I know you missed me Casper, I find it sweet."
"I find it humiliating." He whispered, again how dare you! But there was never any bite, instead he nodded his head for you to join him in his sulking fest, easily you stayed in his arms, tight and firm(not enough to hurt) and you stayed like that for a while.
"Casper. The food is going to get cold."
"I prefer it that way, and stop moving." He huffed, his chest felt fuzzy again, and his cheeks had a slight warmth to them. Instead of seeing the smug look on your face, he buried his head into your shoulder, clinging to you longer.
"Drama queen." Is all you can say. But he is yours, so you gotta deal with it.
My simple KNY AU where everything's the same, but almost all Kizuki are Hashira!! Gyutaro would be in Giyuu's place- finding Tanjiro and Nezuko in the beginning and having sympathy on them because they remind him of him and Ume.
Before I said he'd be the poison Hashira, but I think he'd be the water pillar, then create his own breathing technique, Blood Breathing!
I have so many notes on the au, maybe I'll keep going with it ♡
Summary: the Eridian scientists haven't quite gotten the heat in the biodome right just yet, leaving Reader and Ryland to come up with their own way of staying warm.
Contents: it's smut, there is so very, very little plot in this. Reader is supposed to be the Hail Mary's engineer. There's no reference or implication to Reader's age so you can read her/them as whatever age you like. explicit sexual content. oral sex (f!receiving). unprotected piv & creampie. They're both a lil silly and giggly but soft dom Ryland (if you squint). Consent king Ryland btw.
A/N: yeah, look. I don't have an excuse for this. Ryland Grace lives rent free in my head.
W/C: 4.6k
The biodome temperature is plummeting. It's not cold enough that you're at imminent risk of freezing to death, but it's definitely gone beyond a bit cold and headed firmly in the direction of uncomfortable.
You've got three layers on and it's still cold. Long since having abandoned even attempting to sleep, you try to keep yourself from feeling too miserable. At least there's fresh air.
Aside from being cold, though, you're also exhausted. When morning comes, you can probably speak to the Eridian scientists about adjusting the temperature in the biodome, but first you have to make it through the night.
A soft knock on your bedroom door tells you that Ryland isn't doing much better.
He's wearing his favourite cardigan, with a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but even so, he still looks just as miserable as you feel.
"Doing okay in here?" He asks.
In response, you exhale, your breath visible in the air, making him smile wryly.
"Thought as much. Can I come sit? Can't sleep anyway."
You scoot over on your bed, pat the space beside you.
"Course you can." You tell him; you're used to being up in each other's personal space after so long spent in close proximity.
Sometimes you feel like the two of you are right on the edge of becoming something more. More than friends. More than the only two human beings for sixteen light years.
Neither of you are quite bold enough to make that first move.
Still, you're perfectly comfortable sitting side by side with him, resting your head on his shoulder while he in turn rests against you.
You both have something to read, but it's difficult to focus when your bodies are using so much energy trying to keep warm.
"Never going to sleep at this rate..." You complain, huddle a little closer to him.
He makes a little hum of acknowledgement, the sort of sound you're used to hearing when he's thinking.
"Maybe if we pile all the blankets together and then -"
Ryland doesn't finish his sentence, instead flushing an adorable shade of pink as he realises what he's saying. What it might sound like he's implying.
Your brain catches up, processes what he's suggesting, and then you nod. It is a good idea; the pair of you could conserve more body heat together, just by pressing up close to one another within a small space.
"No, that's a good idea. We should. We'll stay warmer together that way. That and if we can't sleep, at least we have company?"
Ryland feels far less awkward as he realises that no, you don't think he's a pervert for suggesting it. Instead, the two of you work together to gather the blankets from your bed and move them to his.
"Body heat?" He confirms, and it's your turn to feel a little shy as you agree.
With the lights off and in near total darkness, you both strip down to your underwear and dive under the blanket pile, trying to be close enough to one another to stay warm, whilst also not making the other feel crowded.
The bed isn't exactly enormous though, and any gap left between you just lets cold air in, so you end up far closer together than either of you perhaps originally considered you'd be.
"Definitely need to talk to Rocky about the temperature in here..." Ryland mutters, and you hum agreement.
"Kind of hard to complain when they're doing so much for us already..." You say quietly, "I always feel so bad asking for anything."
Oh, he can relate to that all too much, but there's a difference between being burdensome and needing to survive, which he swiftly reminds you of.
You lay together in silence for a little while, but the cold is still too much, so you end up drifting closer and closer together, until you loosely wrap one arm around his waist and tug him against you.
"Only works if we stay close," you remind him as he wraps one of his warm, solid arms around you.
Ryland laughs softly, remembering his own words from what feels like a lifetime ago on the aircraft carrier, when you'd been standing close together on one of the observation decks, trying to keep warm whilst also getting some fresh air.
That little reminder seems to diffuse any nervous tension between you, though.
It's been so difficult, everything you went through together, assuming you would die together, slowly regaining your memories together.
You've both reached the mutual conclusion that there had been something there, before. That there certainly was now, but you were so hesitant to act on it, both of you. Perhaps not quite believing that you did, in fact, have time now.
There had, after all, been a time where you had expected to go on this mission without him. You'd closed yourselves off to one another, you think, to try and spare yourselves any more pain, any more damage.
One of the more recent memories to return to you is called to the forefront of your mind again; you in the medical bay, before they'd put you under.
The way you'd seen him, already comatose. The devastation you'd felt, knowing he had been condemned to his own death to save humanity. That your sacrifice would benefit humanity, but not the one person you had hoped you could save.
You'd very gently brushed his hair off his forehead, couldn't remember anything beyond that.
But the feelings that he inspired within you had never left, even if there had been a lot of time that you hadn't understood them.
So you're not actually surprised that you feel so comfortable like this, his arms around you, your cheek pressed against his shoulder.
Idly, your free hand moves, brushes across his bare skin. He feels a little warmer, at least, but not much.
"Is this okay?" You ask, because you know that he's cagey about being touched, always makes jokes about keeping walls up between himself and others.
Ryland doesn't remember whether he's held you like this before; he doesn't think he has, but it feels perfectly natural to him. Right.
"Yeah, it's okay." He kind of likes it, actually. Likes the way your fingers gently run through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The way your touch is so gentle; reverent, not cautious.
He doesn't know what he did to earn that softness from you. Doesn't remember, and he doubts you do, either. What he does know, is that it's a gift, one he doesn't intend to squander or take advantage of.
It's been years since he held someone like this; his ex-girlfriend breaking up with him had devastated him, made him more comfortable icing people out, keeping a distance to prevent feeling that pain again.
Something about you makes him want to take the risk.
Just as he's thinking this, your fingertips gently brush his hair out of his eyes. He needs to trim it again, it's getting a little too long, and falls in his face sometimes.
The gentle touch feels strangely familiar, though he isn't sure why, and wonders whether he's dreamed it before.
Sometimes, he does things without thinking, acting or speaking on impulse. This is one of those times.
He leans in closer to you, one hand moving to gently cup your face, tilt your head up.
"Ry-?" You ask, and it's your nickname for him that does it, has him closing the minimal distance between you and brushing his lips across yours.
You think you feel time stop; years, you've wanted him to kiss you. Have desperately wanted to be in this very position, with his arms around you. Of course, there had always been far more pressing matters at hand.
But now... Now you have nothing but time.
"Is this okay?" He asks, and you can hear the uncertainty in his voice, which only makes the warmth and desire you feel for him grow.
You answer him with another kiss, slow and careful, letting it naturally progress into something deeper and more intense.
Slowly, cautiously, Ryland licks into your mouth; you both sigh into the kiss at the same time before you're gently tugging him half on top of you.
Chest to chest, you thread your fingers into the longer hair at the top of his head, caressing, pulling him down into another kiss.
For a while there's silence in the room except the soft sound of your kisses, the little sighs you both make as you run your hands all over each other.
You don't know where to touch; your hands drift between his chest, his arms, into his soft hair. Every single brush of your fingertips seems to make him purr, his hands all over you, still being somewhat reserved with his touch.
So, when his hand slides down to your hip, you catch his wrist, link your fingers with his, guide his hand into your underwear, between your thighs.
He takes the hint, cups your pussy gently with his hand, gasps slightly when he feels your slick heat.
"Feel what you do to me, Ry?" You whisper, grateful that he can't see the shyness in your expression, even if your voice sounds confident.
The shiver that runs down his spine has nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with your confession, the accompanying evidence.
Between the two of you, you get your underwear off, leaving you both entirely bare to one another.
Slowly, gently, he drags his middle finger through your wetness, coating the digit before he presses it inside.
You gasp out a breathy little sound as his finger sinks knuckle deep with ease. He's almost caressing you as he slowly drags it out, presses back in.
Even after years of tension between you, there's still no rush to it; as much as the desire between you is heightened, finally reaching a boiling point, time is something you have now.
Ryland genuinely doesn't remember the details regarding the last time he was with a woman. Of course, it's been years. He never really was one for casual hookups; he thinks there might have been one or two after his ex-girlfriend left him, but nothing more than an awkward one night stand.
That doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's doing; he's not inexperienced, more... Out of practice.
But that's fine, because you seemingly have absolutely no issues with what he's currently doing to you. Quite the opposite, in fact. You're making some truly beautiful little sounds for him as he eases a second finger inside you, your back arching up slightly off the bed to press yourself against him.
Okay, so he can remember the last time he slept with someone, but he definitely doesn't remember ever feeling this desired.
You're so wet for him, the hot, open mouthed kisses you give him are needy and full of passion. It makes him genuinely wonder why you hadn't done this sooner, how you'd managed to contain yourselves.
Logically, he knows why, and they were all very genuinely good reasons, but right now? They seem like stupid reasons. Particularly when you start kissing and nibbling his neck, finding sensitive spots that draw pretty sounds out of him.
Almost reluctantly, he slides his fingers out of you, a little amused by the way you whimper when he does so.
“‘s okay,” he reassures you, “I'm not going anywhere…”
And he isn't, has absolutely zero intention of doing so, instead kissing a slow pathway along your jaw, down your throat.
“What are you-? oh-” your breath hitches in your throat as he gently sucks one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth.
The sudden warmth feels good, has you squirming a little beneath him as he circles his tongue around your nipple before pulling away, repeating the motion on the other side.
Perfectly content, he alternates between each side for a little while.
Just when you're really starting to make pretty sounds for him, he keeps kissing his way down, ignoring your soft whimper of protest.
Under the blankets, he settles himself between your legs, your thighs draped over his broad shoulders.
You're glad it's dark, so he can't see the shy expression on your face as he kisses your inner thigh slowly.
It's torture; for a moment you think he might just do this for hours, until you're desperate. He doesn't seem in any great rush.
But then, finally, once you're shaking a little with sheer need, he presses a feather light kiss to your core.
You inhale sharply, a little whimpery sound that jolts through him, rushes to his cock and makes him ache against the sheets.
But he's good at ignoring his own desires, focusing solely on you for now.
He presses soft kisses to your clit, traces circles around the sensitive little bud with the tip of his tongue, getting a feel for what makes you give him the best reaction.
You’re very reactive, he soon discovers, making the prettiest little sounds as he buries his face between your thighs.
Letting your slick drip onto his tongue, he drinks you down like you’re sweet, expensive coffee, guided by your moans and whines, your fingers threading into his hair and tugging gently.
That latter action has him groaning into you, low moans as he wraps one arm around you, resting across your stomach to keep you in place, gentle but firm.
You gasp and whine and moan for him as he sucks on your clit, laps at your folds, gently sucks on those, too, the gentle scratch of his facial hair adding to the already overwhelmingly delicious sensation.
He moans into you, holds you in place as your hips try to move of their own accord, alternating between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue until you're practically sobbing his name.
You were already so close after he fucked you with his fingers, but this time he lets you tip over the edge.
The intense climax ripples through your entire body, leaves you shaking beneath him, thighs twitching slightly on his shoulders.
He makes soft, appreciative little sounds as he eats you through it, messy and greedy, lapping up every drop of slick and cum that trickles out of you.
You reach for him with a broken little whine as he pulls away, wipes his mouth on your inner thigh with a satisfied groan.
Shakily, you slide your legs off his shoulders.
You're both warming up, but it's the last thing on either of your minds right now. Near desperate, you tug him up, all the way on top of you; he cages you in beneath him, his strong arms on either side of you as he settles himself comfortably between your thighs again.
It doesn't escape either of your notice that your bodies seem to slot together near perfectly, as though you were made for one another.
Finally, you can feel the heat of his hard cock against your belly. It's only once you can feel him that you realise how badly you've wanted him, for so long.
Brief memories flicker through you; jolts of warmth as you remember brushes of hands, little touches, lingering in each other's space.
For a moment, he isn't quite sure what to do; doesn't want to make you feel like he's pressuring you for anything, regardless of how eager you seem to be.
But then you hook one leg up around his waist, your foot settling at the small of his back, your fingers threading through his hair, and his nerves fade away. Once again, it strikes Ryland how natural this feels; how easily your bodies fit together.
Resting on one arm, he uses his free hand to reach between you. He still feels a little shy, even as he wraps that same hand around his shaft, gives himself a slow, lazy stroke before letting you feel the full length of him against your slick soaked core.
Your eyes widen a little as you realise just how big he is. It's not like you've never thought about it; you have, in detail.
In your past experience, though, there's been a certain arrogance to men who are well endowed. He doesn't have that attitude to him at all.
Slowly, he drags the velvet soft tip of his cock through your folds, back and forth, teasing, coating himself in your slick.
"Still okay?" He asks, voice soft, though there's a slight hint of roughness to it from arousal.
"Still okay," you whisper back, run your fingers through his hair, a habit you seemingly can't get enough of now that you're allowed to do it.
"Keep going?"
Maybe he's being too cautious, but he needs to hear you say it, half for his anxiety's sake, and half because he wants to hear you say it. Needs to hear how much you want him.
"Ry," you breathe, nip at his collarbone, "please don't stop now. Please, I need you..."
He likes the nickname you call him, the way your voice softens every time. He's been so used to being referred to by his surname only, it's surprising to hear his given name again, let alone a shorter version.
Once, he wasn't one for nicknames, but he doesn't mind when it's you.
More than the nickname you've given him, though, he likes the way you ask him to touch you. It makes his brain feel particularly fuzzy and stupid, lust taking over most of his other senses.
Even so, he's careful as he notches himself at your entrance, presses just the tip of his cock inside you; that first little stretch has you whimpering into his shoulder, so he slows even more, almost to a stop.
"No, nonono please, keep going..." You plead, so breathy and sweet in your begging that he can't help but give in.
He's still gentle, though, eases himself inside you inch by inch. Focusing on being careful, he doesn't try to stay quiet, his little groans escaping his mouth right beside your ear.
Finally, finally, he's buried to the hilt inside you, moans as he gently grinds his hips against yours.
"Fuck-" he exhales, nuzzles into your neck, "god, you feel so good..."
And you do; Ryland has almost forgotten what it feels like to be inside someone, the velvet soft warmth of you wrapped around him is a long forgotten sensation, one that’s instantly addictive, and definitely worthy of the rarely uttered expletive that just fell from his lips.
For what it’s worth, you can’t form an articulate sentence just yet. Instead, you’re too busy focusing on the feeling of him stretching you open, the delicious sensation of being full of him.
Your breaths come in ragged little gasps, needy, your hands sliding under his arms to settle on his back. Your palms splayed, short nails lightly digging into the muscle of his shoulders.
“God,” you breathe, nuzzle into his neck, press warm, open mouthed kisses to his pulse point.
You aren’t quite sure what you expect his reaction to be. Not the almost whimper that he muffles into your shoulder as he rolls his hips, a little sharper than originally intended, making you mewl for him.
“’m sorry,” he pants, presses his forehead to yours, stills again, clearly worried that he’s hurt you.
“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him, “I’m okay, you’re just kinda… big.”
In the very dim light, with your faces so close together, you can see him blink, the slightly puzzled – and shy – look on his face.
“I am?”
He sounds just a little too innocent, though, and you give him a little poke, giggling.
“Ryland Grace, there’s no way you don’t know that.” You mock chastise him, still giggling when he shakes his head.
“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it,” he mumbles against your shoulder, presses a kiss to your soft skin before he asks, almost shy again, “can I move now?”
“Mm,” you answer, deciding not to waste time on words when you could be kissing him instead.
Sliding one hand back out from under his arm, you instead run the palm of your hand up his chest, over his shoulder, settling at the nape of his neck. Originally, your intention was to just pet the short strands of hair, but then he moves.
Ryland has a temper, somewhat, beneath his usually polite and awkward exterior, and there’s a certain arrogance there, too. Somehow though, you’d always assumed maybe he’d bring that same awkwardness into this situation. Thought that perhaps he would be the shy and nervous type.
Apparently, that was the wrong assumption to make. He knows you well after years in close confines, knows every intimate, tiny detail about your reactions and body language.
So, that kind of close relationship transfers near seamlessly into this. He pays close attention to the way you respond to him, gives you slow, shallow thrusts at first.
Your little moans and breathy whimpers are muffled into the kiss you give him, open mouthed and needy. He lets that guide him, too.
Keeping himself propped up on one forearm, his free hand runs down your side, caresses your ass and thigh before he hikes it up a little higher on his hip, allowing him deeper.
You gasp, the hand in his hair tugging lightly at the longer strands, making him groan softly.
“Yeah? You liked that?” He sounds half amused, half curious, rolls his hips to see if he can get you to make that same sound again.
“Oh, you did…” he murmurs, kissing your collarbone when you moan for him.
It really is curiosity, desire to learn how to make you feel good, with that faint undertone of arrogance that ends up coming off as the softest of dominance, can barely be classified as such.
Regardless, it makes you weak, has you clinging to him as he slowly works up to a steady pace. There's no rush; after waiting so long, he wants to draw this out, just in case you both decide never to do this again.
So, he keeps his pace slow and sensual, has you running your hand up and down his back, clinging to his shoulder each time he hits deep, regardless of how gentle he's being with you.
“Tilt your hips for me, honey, can you do that?”
Ryland’s voice is impossibly soft as he all but coos the words at you, purring when you obey.
You bring your other leg up to wrap around his waist, keeping him where he is, which is to say, in the perfect place.
“Yeah, exactly like that, there you go…”
Showering you in little kisses, keeping himself braced on one forearm, he moves again, builds up a steadier pace in this new position as you whimper, barely audible moans right into his ear as he cages you in beneath him, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.
It takes you a moment to realise that he’s forcing himself to be quiet, muffling his own little groans into the kisses he plants all over you.
“It’s okay,” you breathe, turn your head so you can kiss his jawline, “I wanna hear you. Let me hear you, Ry, please?”
That seems to be the encouragement he needs; Ryland makes no effort to hide the sounds that pour, unchecked now, from his parted lips as he steadily builds up a harder, deeper pace.
Your moans, the filthy sounds of his cock inside you, his groans of pleasure, they all harmonise and echo in the room as you cling to him.
Already, you can feel that familiar pressure building in your core, somewhat amazed that you’re so close again already. But then again, this has been long overdue. Literal years of tension between you, near endless yearning.
“I don’t know h-how much longer I can-”
Every word he speaks is ragged with arousal, letting you know just how close he is to the edge. That doesn’t bother you; nothing could possibly bother you right now, not when he’s steadily pounding you into the bed, groaning into your soft skin.
He doesn’t stop, especially not when he feels your walls start to tighten around him; your short nails bite into the muscle of his shoulders as you cling to him, a more intense orgasm than the previous tearing through your body.
“Oh my god,” you whine, breathy and desperate and barely coherent through your high pitched moans. “Oh my god, Ry-”
Ryland thinks that he could definitely get used to hearing you cry his name like that as he fucks you through the peak of your release, chasing his own now with reckless abandon.
His hips collide with yours as you writhe beneath him, clinging to his biceps now, as though trying to ground yourself.
Meanwhile, he’s completely lost in you. In the feeling of your body against his, the whimpers you breath into his ear, the way you feel wrapped around his cock as he fucks you harder, deeper.
His own climax hits him out of nowhere; he felt it building, of course, but didn’t expect it so soon; he feels almost like some kind of animal as he grinds against you, his breaths coming in ragged groans as his hips finally still.
Even in his present state, all he can manage is a soft little “wow”, murmured into the side of your neck. He kisses just below your earlobe, and you laugh, exhausted.
“Wow doesn’t even cover it,” you say, breathless, “I’d be more inclined to say something far more expletive laden, but… that’s just me.”
That drags a laugh from him, because it’s true. Generally speaking, you do have a far more expansive repertoire of curse words than him.
Carefully, he pulls out of you with a low groan, suddenly feeling the exertion throughout his entire body.
Not wanting to collapse his entire weight onto you, he rolls onto his side, pulling you with him, your leg still draped around his waist, over his hip.
“You alright?” He asks softly, brushes his nose against yours.
One hand flat against his chest, you hum, tilt your head so you can steal a brief kiss.
“Mm, more than alright, actually,” you reply, which is true. You haven’t felt this weightless and happy in a long, long time. His arms around you, the little kisses he peppers over your face, it just feels right.
“Good. I’m glad. I feel the same way,” Ryland adjusts his arms around you, just so you can both be a little more comfortable. You nuzzle into him, pleased when a little purring sound rumbles in his chest in response.
You should probably go try clean up, but you’re warm and comfortable, and neither of you are in any rush.
Eventually, you do extract yourself from his arms to go pee and clean up, shivering by the time you crawl back under the sheets into his waiting embrace.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah, less gross, but now I’m cold again,” you complain with a little huff, burrowing your face into his shoulder.
There’s a little pause before his fingers slip under your chin, tilt your head up so he can kiss you.
“Well… we did just find a way to generate heat. And we both know we can’t call a theory proven without multiple experiments.” He says, very seriously, even though he’s trying not to smile.
“Did you seriously just ask me for round two in science terms?”
“... maybe.”
“You’re such a nerd,” you tease, exasperated, “but you’re my nerd, so it’s okay.”
Your nerd, huh? Yeah. Ryland thinks he can live with that.
(enjoy me cleaning out my drafts full of bf!ryland grace)
ryland loves his job for many reasons. working with kids turned out to be really fulfilling and he loves building relationships with them. but now that he’s dating you, his personal favorite is he gets out early enough to pick you up from work everyday.
it’s the bay area, and with him both of you working in the city, taking public transit just makes life easier. and now that you’re living together, ryland is living the dream.he walks you to work, hand in hand, every morning. he gets off at the same stop as you, walks you to your office building, always making sure to give you a slow, loving and deep goodbye kiss. so you won’t forget about him during the day, of course. then he walks down the block to hop on the bus that drops him off right at the school.
and every afternoon, ryland takes the bus back to your building, and sits in the little quad area right outside. sometimes he’ll grade something small, like an easy worksheet he had his students do, or he’ll read to fill the time to wait for you. other times he’ll sit and people watch, then he’ll tell you all the silly stories he made up about them on the way home. and sometimes when you’ve had a particularly hard day, he’ll find a little treat to surprise you with. whether it be a a pastry, or flowers, really anything to get you to smile. (that man loves surprising you with flowers. he likes the particular look on your face when admiring them and the genuine appreciation in your eyes when you thank him).
and you’ve told him before that he doesn’t need to drop you off and pick you up from work. “im a big girl, ry. you don’t have to wait for me if you’re tired from work.” you tell him one morning, legs tangled together, your head on his chest. he looks at you, sleep still in his eyes, but a playful smirk on his face. “why? is your other boyfriend getting jealous i get all your time.” you smack his chest, giggling you lol up at him. “no, he knows your my favorite.” you barely get out before he squeezes your side, tickling you.
“ry, im being serious.” you pout at his betrayal of your defenseless state. “trust me, we all know you can take care of yourself. i’ve told you many times that you’re a little scary.” he laughs and you rolls your eyes, attempting to push yourself off of him. but he holds your tighter against him. “i do it because i want to. i like to know you’re safe, and i want to spend every. single. second i can with you before you leave me all day.” he punctuates every word with a kiss, the last one landing on your lips. “i just want to take care of you. make sure my girl is okay.” and you melt at his words. you were so in love with him, and it was written all over your face.
you and work friends all walk out together, laughing at whatever stupid joke one of you made about someone else in the office. and ryland hears your polite chuckles over every sound in the city, and immediately gets up for his seat, walking towards you. your coworkers spot him first, shouting a “you’re bodyguard is here!” and he nods politely at them. he always pulls you into the biggest, bone crushing hug, then cradles your face, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in years - and if you ask him anytime away from you is too long.
“hi baby,” you say against his lips. and you hear your coworkers snicker at the two of you. “see you guys tomorrow,” but your attention is not on them anymore, just fully focused on the man in front of you. “see you both tomorrow. don’t have too much fun,” as they walk the opposite way from you and ryland. it doesn’t matter that his backpack is already on, he’s carrying your bag while his free hand reaches for your hand.
“anything particular you want for dinner tonight?” you ask, kissing his shoulder as you approach the crosswalk. the light turns red and you guys wait for the light to change. he pulls you in him, his front flush against your back, mouth dipping to your ear. “no, but i know what i want for dessert.” he rasps in your ear. you laugh pushing him slightly, “what you missed me or something?” he kisses the top of your head and the light changes and he leads you across the street. “oh honey, you have no idea how much.”
I was very drunk at a concert last night and the only thing I could think of the whole time was this duck picture with the caption “don’t let me into my zone” it was like a ghost that haunted me
I had been rereading Captivated, By You and this panel where Hayashi’s eyes get compared to the Mona Lisa picked at the cracks of something I had been thinking about while I stared at the Satomi version of Mona Lisa, and now the dam that is my mind has flooded over… I have to say it out loud.
If you have experienced fictitious historical retellings of Leonardo Da Vinci painting the Mona Lisa, then you’d be familiar with the storyline of Da Vinci convincing his muse to smile for his painting. This isn’t the story behind the real painting, it’s a reference to the ambiguous smile she gives when viewed in person. Her smile is almost not quite there, and, for some, it’s an incredibly neutral look on her that they’re seeing.
Eventually, in those stories, Mona Lisa’s expression finally breaks down in joy. A burst of laughter or a smile finding itself on her face, finally is she “Mona Lisa.” This ending being a metaphor for when the viewer finally finds her smile. Its other Italian name (La Gioconda) is a pun on Lisa del Giocondo’s married name, emphasizing her happiness. The “Mona” part of the painting’s international name had come from “Monna”, translating into Lady Lisa.
Monna was the polite form of Ma Donna, which has become “Madonna” today, a term for Virgin Mary(-like figures), or more simply put, a pure ideal founded in a female partner. This image is applicable to Mona Lisa herself. Lisa del Giocondo had been a second time mother when it was commissioned, even if she never lived to see it. Her right hand over her left speaks to the Mona Lisa being a reserved and faithful wife.
Now, what does this have to do with Satomi?
The Painting
While the parody maintains the setting and posture of the original, this depiction is a complete inversion of the Mona Lisa’s image. A young boy who refuses to meet the eyes of the viewer no matter how you look at it, unambiguously does his tears trail down his face in sadness. His frustration couldn’t be more clear to us. But whenever I looked at it, I couldn’t stop thinking about those stories of bringing Mona Lisa’s passive face to smile.
If the reader isn’t careful while reading Karaoke Iko, they might not realize just how much Satomi cares about Kyouji until his fake-out death happens. Satomi is very neutral with his approach about Kyouji, not because he doesn’t care, but because he doesn’t understand his own feelings yet. Kyouji is a confusing, messed up part of his life that he keeps letting back in. Like many other themes, it is continued and explored in Famiresu Iko.
Not once has Satomi happily smiled for Kyouji in this series as of now. Maybe it’ll change in the future, but this is the truth. There’s the occasional blush, frustrated look, or deadpan stare, but that’s all Satomi’s has expressed facially for Kyouji. The only outliers are when Kyouji made Satomi cry, that was when Mona Lisa’s face finally gave way to feeling.
Like the Mona Lisa, it’s hard to perceive Satomi’s feelings until you find the right angle because it’s encased in a neutral expression. Nothing about the Satomi painting is neutral however, so what’s going on? Well, only twice does Satomi cry so heavily in Karaoke Iko and they’re very similar: it’s when he puts himself in danger to walk into the territory of Yakuza to find Kyouji, both of which Kyouji tells him not to go.
The first time had been when Satomi tried to find Kyouji to give him the Omanori, just to get caught by Cocaine Alien and be saved by Kyouji himself. But I think it’s obvious that the second time, when Kyouji is thought to have died and Satomi runs to find him—only to see his alive after he had just sang his heart out for him—is what the painting is supposed to be depicting. His turning of eyes is him ashamed of being exposed in a vulnerable way when it was “unnecessary”, because it hurts to love Kyouji.
Even so, as I say that, Satomi’s tears of perceived sadness in the painting are as misleading as his neutral expressions. His tears are not just sadness, but love pouring from the depths of his heart that have no way of containing itself. It’s relief that wants to be happy, but expresses itself in just one way. Regardless of the inversion, the loyalty in his stance is kept the same as Mona Lisa. He is not a Madonna figure, but as a young boy in choir and the pure bright white of his shirt being a vocal point of the painting, he retains the same holy ideal.
The Kyouji Angle
This art of Kyouji showing off the painting of Satomi was originally the cover of the Doujinshi version of Karaoke Iko. It’s still in the officially published version, but knowing that it wasn’t a piece drawn offhandedly puts more weight into it. Once upon a time, this is what Wayama thought of to define her work.
It’s hard to tell what Kyouji’s relationship is with the painting, be it the curator, conservator, artist, owner, museum guide, etc. but what we do know is that he’s behind the dividers and the yakuza are not. The bald yakuza being so close to the dividers and Kyouji holding out his arm is in parallel to the yakuza meet-up scene where Kyouji has to come inbetween him and Satomi. If you pay close attention, Kyouji has always put him physically in between the other yakuza and Satomi.
This is one of Kyouji’s many ways of “protecting” the purity of Satomi’s normal life and junior years. He avoids smoking around Satomi, he covers Satomi from the blood getting on him, and he stops talking to Satomi to keep a distance between them. In the artwork, he has white gloves to handle the painting of Satomi. The problem is that he’s behind the divider at all, the problem is that he’s showing off his Satomi to the others. All three interactions with the other Yakuza are directly because of Kyouji’s involvement with them.
It’s less protection, and more a message to not touch something sacred that he selfishly wants to keep framed. The funny thing is that Satomi is right there in the full art, off the side and next to the boss, away from the crowd looking at his painting. He’s not behind the divider with Kyouji either. Kyouji keeps safe the image of what he thinks Satomi needs to have a normal life. It’s also possible to interpret this as Kyouji showing off the most surface level of his relationship to Satomi, but there’s still distance between him and the actual Satomi.
To keep the Satomi in his heart close, but the real one at a distance… is that what he does by having the tattoo of his name on his arm? According to Wayama, he never intended to walk back into Satomi’s life until he saw him at the airport with his business card. He was fully intending to leave Satomi alone until that point. The Kumicho and Satomi being next to each other is symbolic of the importance they both hold to Kyouji, both on his skin and in his life.
It’s heavier to be a yakuza with an Irezumi tattoo, significant to your loyalty in the organization, and to have a name of someone you care about on your skin along side that, than if it were a normal person. Satomi being the most famous painting, the Mona Lisa, alludes to how precious Kyouji finds Satomi. Youthful, emotional, and caring Satomi made an huge impact on him that day of the karaoke competition.
Has a fic ever absolutely devastated you to the point you can’t form a coherent thought? That’s okay! That’s where picture comments come in! Here’s how!
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