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spinningwebsandtales · 3 months

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Imagine Meeting Up With Ken After He's Moved Back To Japan

Ken Sato X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Reader has a slight panic attack, touch of angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

(A/N:) I have never watched Ultraman in my life and I never planned on it honestly. But dang I saw the trailer ad for Ultraman Rising and they barely give you a glimpse of Ken but it was enough. I watched it. I loved it. And now I'm obsessed with Ken Sato. End of story. I have lots in my drafts I want to write for him so keep an eye out! But until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The day that Ken Sato had moved out of your life had been the saddest one you could remember. Being kids, the adults didn't see it as such a big deal but between the two of you, it seemed like the world had ended. You both kept in touch but it still didn't make the distance seem any shorter. Years passed by and video calls turned into phone calls. Phone calls turned into missed calls. Missed calls turned into text messages and even then that didn't last long. As you grew older you let the thought of seeing Kenji again go and then the pain finally eased. You never felt that ache again, until you watched the news.

Super star player Ken Sato returns to his home country and that is the day your little world stopped spinning. Your phone rang off the hook as your friends tried to call you.

"Did you hear," your friend screamed making you grimace, "Kenji is back!"

"Yep," you sighed. "It's all over the news. Hard to ignore it."

"You don't sound excited! I thought he was your best friend when you were kids?!"

"He was, but that was a long time ago and now he's this superstar baseball player. Why would he remember me when he's made it so big?"

"Don't make that excuse, you need to go see him. You'll see that he'll be just as happy to see you as you are of him."

Despite your better judgement and a long sleepless night, you found yourself at the Giant's stadium. You had tried Ken's house only for him to be gone. And despite feeling like a stalker you tried both day and night. When that didn't work you tried looking at the restaurant you both loved as kids, no luck there either. You knew the stadium would be your best bet but you didn't want to get carted off for trespassing or embarrass Ken by your being there. Maybe you were using those as excuses. Or maybe you were terrified by the face that he probably wouldn't remember you or he'd laugh in your face that you came crawling back. Your heart slammed against your chest and your breathing turned into panicked gasps. This was impossible, you didn't know why you even bothered.

Reporters began to exit the building, pushing you along as you tried to calm yourself. The chatter of the group was too much for you at the moment. You stepped away towards a quieter part of the stadium, not noticing that you were entering in a restricted part for players and managers only. The quiet helped calm you and now you finally realized where you were at.

"Miss are you lost," a man wearing a security uniformed approached you and your panic starting to rear it's ugly head once more.

"I'm sorry I got lost," you eased back, clinging tightly to your bag's strap.

"It happens," he said politely. "May I escort you back to the main entrance?"

"Yes please."

You deflated as you followed the security guard. It didn't seem like you were ever going to see your best friend ever again. Your heart broke and you refused to let yourself cry until you got home. You almost made it back to the hall where you got lost in the flood of reporters when a voice calling your name had you freezing. He couldn't possibly know it was you? After all this time did he really remember you so well?

"Kenji?"

"I thought it was you," he grinned.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of the boy you once knew. You could tell he was handsome on the TV screen but you weren't prepared for the sight in real life. Even as a kid you had a crush on him, you just didn't realize it until later. Your mom thought it had been cute but now you just felt embarrassment. With longer sleek black hair and eyes that were so dark they sucked you in. You stopped breathing for a second when he finally stood in front of you. His eyebrow raised, he bent over waving a hand in your face. Lean and tall, it was no wonder he was an amazing athlete.

"Hello," Ken stared leaning over. "You still with me?"

"It's so good to see you," you stumbled stepping back at the proximity. "I didn't know you were coming back so soon."

He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "It wasn't planned honestly. Losing mom and dad needing me."

You gasped grabbing his arm, "Kenji I'm so sorry."

You glanced to your hand and you quickly let him go, cheeks flushing brightly.

"It's okay," his smile wavered. "Have to grow up sometime."

"But," you started feeling horrible.

"It was good seeing you again," Ken replied turning away. Though this was the first time you'd seen him in so long, he still had that same way of showing his true emotions. The slightly hunched shoulders and it felt like all the warmth suddenly left the room.

"Kenji wait," you yelled.

He turned keeping his hands in his pockets. The sorrow in his eyes had you blinking back tears and you knew it was time to be brave. He remembered you and though he wasn't the same person when he left, he was still your friend. Yeah a little taller, a little more selfish, a lot of ego (you couldn't deny he earned the right), and a lot more handsome, but Kenji Sato all the same.

"Wanna go get something to eat? Our old haunt is still open and I would love to treat you. I've," you paused. "I've missed you a lot actually."

Though it didn't quite reach his eyes Ken smiled, nodding in agreement, "I'd like that. But I'm buying, no arguments."

"Fine Mr. Super Baseball Man."

He laughed, "You haven't changed at all."

That was a little disappointing. You were hoping he'd at least see how much you've grown, while he was away.

The restaurant was busy, a line forming outside but you both didn't mind waiting. Kenji hadn't eaten here in years and if you were honest, you hadn't either. You tried once after he left and though the food always tasted delicious, it wasn't the same without him. You both were ushered in a little bit after arriving and after all this time the owners remembered you both. Ordering the same thing as you both did all those years ago, it didn't take long for contentment to ease between you both. Ken's foot tapped beneath the table and you could tell he was struggling.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," you spoke up. Not wanting him to feel like he had to do anything to make you comfortable. Though you still felt awkward, especially when fans made their way to him for pictures and autographs, you couldn't deny that it was still easy being around him.

"It's not that I don't want to," he groaned, now drumming his fingers on the table. "It's been forever. I should have so many things to tell you and I do! I just...I don't know where to begin."

"Start with baseball that seems to be going well," you grinned.

"Ha! You could say it is going decent," he nodded. "It was different in America, I'm curious to see how it's going to go being back home."

"I imagine so. Not going to lie though, home wasn't the same either when you left. It felt like I had to start all over, it was kind of terrifying."

"I'm sorry."

You touched his hand, "It's not your fault. We were both kids. Life changes, gets in the way, separates us from loved ones. We had no control over it, like we don't have much control over anything now. I'm glad you were able to find your way Kenji. I'm glad you made a life for yourself and I'm glad you got to follow your dream. I can tell how much baseball means to you."

Ken nodded a small smile pulling at his lips again, "It does. But I think this moment right here with you means more to me than baseball right now."

You flushed brightly. You weren't expecting a reply like that but it made you feel warm inside. You opened your mouth to reply, though unsure of what you could possibly say when your orders were set down before you. Saying thanks for the food and the chime of you both breaking chopsticks apart. Another peaceful silence stayed between you both as you both slurped noodles. True to his word Ken paid for the meal and you both left with full stomachs. Your heart felt lighter and you could have sworn you were walking on air. Glancing up at Ken, you caught him watching you intently.

"Something on your mind there Mr. Sato?"

Ken shook his head giving you a look like he'd tasted something bitter, "Please don't ever call me that again. Making me feel like my father over here."

You could tell things weren't good between Ken and his dad so you didn't pry. "Okay Kenji," you crooned making him shiver.

You didn't realize how you made him feel. When Ken saw you lost in the stadium, following that security guard his heart had skipped a beat. You two had always been close as children and even though you had stopped communicating for years, what he felt for you never waned. Having you here by his side, so close and yet still so far away, it felt like a dream. One he never wanted to wake from. With a soft touch, his fingers trailed down your arm leaving goosebumps in it's wake. You stared up at him, soft eyes taking in every bit of him. He never felt so naked or alive. He didn't stop until he found the back of your hand and still he slipped further, pointer stroking against your digits. Then he bit the bullet, taking your hand into his. He almost laughed at how much smaller your hand was compared to his, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. He squeezed tighter, careful not to hurt you in anyway. You stiffened at first, shocked at him being so bold. But you had to remember he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Would it be possible that we could do this again," he asked. "Maybe somewhere more formal?"

You nodded unable to speak. He kissed the back of your hand and you could have melted right then.

"I would like that very much Ken," your voice wobbled but you didn't let it keep you from speaking.

The answering smile had you in a puddle, the only thing keeping you upright was Kenji himself as you both started reminiscing. And now that some things had been brought out in the open, you both found yourselves talking a lot easier as the past few years passed by with every verbal exchange. You never felt so happy and all it took was for the game of baseball to bring back your best friend and you were ready to see what the future held in store.

#Ken Sato X Reader #Ken Sato / Reader #Kenji Sato X Reader #Kenji Sato / Reader #Ken Sato #Kenji Sato #Ultraman Rising #Ken Sato Imagine #Ultraman Rising Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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smolkooks · 2 months

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incoming call... (part ii) - kenji sato

a/n: roughly 2k more words of kenji sato fluff! sequel to 'incoming call...' link to part i

ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚

“ouch!”

you snickered, “ken, i told you not to get too close! she doesn’t like strangers,” you leant down to scratch the little kitten’s cheeks, and because she knew you and you were undoubtedly her best friend, she purred in contentment, all the while giving kenji sato an irritated glare.

the nickname—ken—slipped off your tongue smoothly, the same way you’d been saying it for the past few months that you’d been spending around your highschool sweetheart. even though you’d been apart for so many years and hadn’t seen each other for so long, it had been easy to slip back into an old rhythm.

“fuck, i didn’t know she’d actually bite me, she looks so tiny,” he hissed, shaking his reddened finger.

“size means nothing when it comes to animals,” you retorted, and despite the way you rolled your eyes, you still handed him an ice pack from your freezer, “take this, big baby.”

he huffed but took it anyway, pressing it to his injury.

it had become a bit of a routine—after his games, he’d come over to your clinic to visit you while you handled the late-night clean ups. the rest of the vet team headed home at closing, but with no kids or family to care for, you often spent your evenings here, keeping the animals company and handling some of the extra paper work.

“how’s emi doing, by the way?” you said as you refilled some of the water bowls. most of the animals were sleeping at this time, but you still liked to make sure they were all fed and watered. in fact, it was better to do it while they were asleep—less whinging from the little babies for treats.

“she’s doing well,” he said, and it was his turn to roll his eyes as he leant against the bench, “attitude and all, as always.”

“she’s a teenage girl,” you said with a laugh, “it’s so normal. i was one, so i can affirm.”

“mhm,” he said, eyes gleaming, “i remember.”

it was weird, toeing this line with kenji sato. so long ago, you’d been each other’s universes and after separating to go to university, the two of you had been sucked into different orbits—him going into baseball in the states, and you pursuing veterinary medicine in australia. it almost felt like fate nudging you, having the two of you run into each other—back in japan all these years later.

saving you from responding, his phone rang at that very moment. being around kenji all these weeks had gotten you used to his late night calls—how he’d have to run off to take care of the city. but this call seemed to come from one of his teammates, with the familiar way he addressed the person on the other side of the line.

he’d told you that at first he didn’t have any friends here, too busy to do anything but work. but now, he’d grown close to plenty of his teammates and of course, he had you.

“yeah well, i’m kinda busy right now actually...why?” you overheard him say as you busied yourself with some clean up and tried not to look like you were eavesdropping, “oh...oh! yeah uh—what?! what the...” his change in tone piqued your interest.

“...right, thanks for telling me, i’ll call you back later, yuta. thanks...” he hung up, and turned sharply to you, meeting your awaiting gaze, “the press caught you, uh, getting into my car.”

you frowned, confused at the problem with that, considering it wasn’t at all illegal for kenji to have friends.

“they’re blowing it up,” he said, running a hand through his hair and messing it up again, “i...i don’t mind, but i don’t want it to hurt you, that’s all.”

you waved his concerns off, “it’s whatever, to me. as long as it doesn’t harm your reputation, i don’t really have a public image to maintain. my patients don’t care who i date or don’t date.”

date? you felt flustered the moment those words left your lips. even though the two of you had been getting closer again and flirting and doing things that one would do while dating, neither of you had clarified the boundary yet.

kenji seemed equally as flustered and didn’t address what you’d said, not wanting to embarrass you, “you’re right,” he smiled crookedly, and you returned one back despite your racing heart.

***

the moment you stepped into your mum’s house, you were bombarded.

“what’s this about you dating kenji again!” she exclaimed, shutting the door behind you and ushering you into your childhood living room, “i haven’t seen that boy in decades. and since when were you—,”

“what, mum?” you cut her off sharply, even as she shoved you into a chair and poured you hot tea, sitting down opposite you eagerly, “i’m not dating him? plus, where’d you even—,”

she shoved the article in your face before you could even finish the question, her phone screen so bright that it took your eyes a second to adjust. “mum, your phone’s so bright, it can’t be good for your eyes.”

“not important, y/n,” she snapped hurriedly, “look at it.”

blinking your eyes to focus, you finally saw the image clearly. it really did look like you were dating. the window of kenji’s porsche was wound down, and you were leant over towards him, pressed so close to him in a way you didn’t remember doing, even though you knew that you’d only been reaching over to grab the gum from his glovebox. the way he was looking at you, though—you hadn’t noticed in the moment. it was really full of adoration, eyes glittering with a love you remembered so clearly from your highschool days, and his arm was reached out around you in a way you also hadn’t noticed before.

“explain,” your mum demanded, although she didn’t seem annoyed, she seemed...quite excited, the way her eyes were suspiciously bright, “i miss seeing that lovely boy around.”

embarrassed, especially as your eyes scanned over the headline—baseball star kenji sato’s new sweetheart?!—you stuttered, “uh, i ran into him a few weeks ago and we’ve been hanging out, you know, at the clinic.”

“well, then, what are you doing in his car?” she rushed, waving her phone around again, “doesn’t look like the clinic to me. and look—,” she scrolled down a bit further to another picture, this one even more incriminating.

it was you, tucked in the audience of one of kenji’s baseball games, dressed in his team colours, cheering amongst the other vip guests sitting amongst you—friends and family of the players.

“well—,”

“i’m not hearing it,” she cut you off, a grin breaking out, “you’re bringing him over! i can’t believe it—my daughter and kenji, reunited,” she sighed happily, “i was worried you would never settle down, you know.”

flustered, you didn’t even bother to object, sagging in your seat at her insistence.

***

“y/n, i’m really sorry, i didn’t think it’d be that bad,” he said hurriedly as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment, “i’m really sorry. i’m trying to get them to take it down but you know how—,”

you whirled around as you shut the door to your apartment after letting him in, “my mum wants to see you.”

“huh?”

you sighed, switching on the lights and throwing yourself onto your couch, “she saw the article and couldn’t stop going on about how i was finally settling down and how she needed to see you again.”

he ran a hand through his hair, “you...don’t mind?”

“kenji,” you sat up straight, beckoning him over, “i don’t mind. and i wouldn’t mind...”

the silence was loud, the only sound in the room the quiet humming of your lights and the traffic outside, as he sat down beside you, sinking into the cushions.

you knew you didn’t have to finish your sentence. kenji sato knew you too well. he met your eyes and pulled you close, hugging you to his chest. you breathed in his scent—clean, and a little tinted with fish. you’d found out that he often had to go fishing—diving, more like—for emi’s dinners, and that was why he was so often around your apartment block...to fish in the river like a weirdo.

“y/n...”

you hummed, waiting for him to continue as you pressed your face into his chest.

“i really meant it when i said i missed you, back when we first saw each other again,” he began, and you smiled into his skin, “i was so lonely. drained, and it was like fate—seeing you that day saved me, i swear. you were all i could think about. i couldn’t...i couldn’t imagine never seeing you again.”

“kenji,” you murmured, leaning back to look at him earnestly, “i missed you, too.”

“what i’m trying to say is,” he swallowed, looking down before looking up to meet your gaze again, “i...i wanna date you, y/n. if you’ll have me,” suddenly shy, he flushed a bit at his own words.

you smiled at how sweet it was, how shy he seemed and also how your stomach fluttered with butterflies, “ken, of course i’ll have you. you’re all i want.”

you’d barely finished your sentence when his lips met yours in a gentle, soft kiss. you couldn’t really put it into words, how it felt to kiss kenji again after all these years. it felt like coming home. it felt like taking all the colours of the sunset and smearing it across a canvas. it felt like drinking warm milk tea. you hummed into the kiss as he deepened it, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck, and you reached up to tangle your hands in his dark locks, pulling him down towards you at the same time.

you were so close to him you could feel his heartbeat—almost hear it, and you hoped he couldn’t hear how quickly yours was racing. he tasted of caramel, and you couldn’t help but sigh as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap as you broke apart from the kiss, curling into him in a hug.

“y/n,” he murmured, keeping his arms wrapped around you, “i really, really missed you.”

you’d missed him too. his little habits, his dishevelled hair—fish smell, and all. you’d missed him more than anything.

finally, you’d come home.

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reesespeanutbutterfuck · 3 months

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love marks & battle scars

[rival! enemy! ken sato x baseball teammate! undercover KDF agent! reader]

part 2

part 1 | part 3

pairing: ken sato x reader

cw: rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, eventual ANGST, cursing, hardcore!intimidating!reader, matsui’s daughter!reader, cursing, minimal details are modified to fit into the storyline, girldad!kenji, reader becomes emi’s mother figure, goofy ahhhh writing as usual

ken sato, your egotistical new teammate has been ticking you off and thinning your patience, being a threat to your place in yomiuri giants.

ultraman, your nemesis who always gets in the way of your job in the kdf, that you only joined in hopes of finding leads and getting clues to track your parents.

and somehow you even ended up being a co-parenting his… kaiju daughter. something you never signed up for.

Ken, as Ultraman, found himself at the scene where Gigantron was, earning a few back pains from being thrown here and there like a ragdoll. Just in the middle of catching his breath, a jet flew in front of his face.

“Ultraman, surrender. Leave this to the KDF and for the nth time, stop intervening.”

He knows that voice. Your voice. Even if you have a voice changer, he recognizes that monotonous voice from the last time he heard it in a similar scenario last night with Neronga.

“Ugh, you again? Can you lay off me?” his attention went to you.

“Not until you lay off our mission.” you replied, looking down at him under your helmet and the jet window.

After rushing to the KDF headquarters, you managed to put your gear inside and catch up with the last jet in the air force. You pulled a pilot away from the cockpit just as he was about to get on and you got on instead. Before the pilot could grumble, you flew the jet up toward the direction of the other jets but stopping by where Ultraman got thrown first.

“Saturnine, right? Can you please, please fly a little further? Almost as if you want to kiss my face.”

“I don’t kiss bad lips. Dream on, Ultrafail.”

He remembers you from Neronga’s attack last night. How could he not? You kept rambling violent verbal threats to him and you even almost “unintentionally” blasted him with a missile. Moreover, you wore a different uniform. He doesn’t know what you look like, because your face would always be covered, and your voice changer alters your voice along with radio distortion.

While bantering, you were distracted when Gigantron let out a loud roar before it flew away with the package. Your eyes went back to Ultraman.

“Stay out of KDF's business.”

You followed with your jet, and so did Ultraman. You were now in front of the jets’ formation, and Ultraman’s following not that far behind. He really doesn't listen.

“If Ultraman interferes, you are authorized to use deadly force.” You heard Dr. Onda say on the radio. You ignored it and focused on catching up to Gigantron. Ultraman’s the least of your worries.

Ultraman accelerates and tries to converse with Gigantron to no avail. You can’t hear what he was saying, but you think he’s trying to convince the Kaiju to hand him the package. Ultraman’s putting himself between the KDF and Gigantron.

That little…

Now it’s time for your backup plan. Just as Dr. Onda commanded to fire the missiles, you also accelerated the speed to reach Gigantron. Ultraman thought you were about to try and wave him off again, but you had other plans.

“What the f–” Until the pilot caught a glimpse of you through the window when you flew ahead. “Sir, Agent Saturnine appeared on the site!”

“What?!” Dr. Onda grits his teeth, pushing one of the Computer Agents to see through the monitor cameras. “Hold fire!”

“Missiles have already fired, sir! She’s trying to turn the jet around to get in Gigantron’s way and fire from its front!”

When the KDF’s missiles almost reached Gigantron, Ultraman blocked them with his force shield. Now’s your chance.

You failed to consider a spot, Ultraman.

Ultraman looks back and immediately recognizes you. What the hell are you–

No.

Ken’s eyes widened from behind the mask when he realized what you were about to do but it was too late. You fired multiple missiles at the other side directly at Gigantron where Ultraman’s force shield doesn’t cover. Then came a big explosion as you hear Gigantron's loud, desperate roar and the sound of its fall from the height like an asteroid. The impact of the explosion from the other’s jets’ missiles and yours repelled your jets away miles from the explosion. Gigantron hitting the ocean surface also made a big wave upon landing.

Then the environment suddenly turned quiet. When the smoke dissipated, you tried to look down and search for the Gigantron’s whereabouts but you could not see clearly from the height. You have to retrieve that package. Even Ultraman was nowhere to be found anymore. Is he dead? In your defense, you didn’t plan to hit him with the missiles too, he was in the way, it’s his fault for meddling.

You need to find Gigantron now and complete the mission. KDF’s drones and Dr. Onda himself searched with you. Later on, after a while, you finally found Gigantron’s unresponsive body but no package to be found. Until you looked beside Gigantron and what you saw gave what it was away.

Fragments of shells.

You looked back at Gigantron’s unmoving body. You weren’t sure if it’s dead or just unconscious. But one thing’s for sure. Aoshima’s going to kill you.

And you failed your mission.

Ultrafuckingman.

—

With a sour mood, you woke up once again the following day. At your house, you sat at the tabletop chair and mindlessly poured coffee to an old, chipped rim cup.

“No work in the morning?”

When you heard the male voice behind you, you accidentally poured your coffee into your hand and when you flinched it spilled all over everywhere from the kettle. You silently muttered a sharp ouch as you tried to soothe the scalded spot.

The man behind you is none other than your father, the one and only baseball champion, Hideki Matsui. Skyrocketing expectations, only expecting the best from his only daughter who took the same line of work as him. As a retired athlete, he wanders around, occasionally attending interviews and reunions from his old Giants teammates.

You sighed before you replied without turning behind to meet his eyes.

“I got suspended.”

—

After the stunt you pulled to eliminate Gigantron, and when Dr. Onda announced that the Kaiju egg hatched, Aoshima had a word with you and suspended you for three days.

“Aoshima, if you'd just let me talk to Dr. Onda alone–”

Aoshima faced you. “Dr. Onda does not chat with his personnel. Whatever you have to say, say it in front of me, and I'll relay, Agent Saturnine.”

“I can’t. It’s a private matter. Besides, it wasn’t my fault why the mission failed. I did what I could.”

“You were there even if you’re off-duty.” Aoshima’s brows furrowed, pointing outside.

“You didn’t say I shouldn’t meddle when I’m off-duty. Clearly it was your fault for giving unclear instructions.”

Aoshima sucked air through his nose. “I’m still a rank above you. So as your Captain, do as I say. Go home and rest.” and then he walked away from you and went in the door to Dr. Onda’s office.

—

Your dad, Matsui scoffs at your revelation. “Suspended? Just what trouble did you cause in your discreet workplace? Well, you'll live with it, it’ll help you focus more on baseball. You have a whole season ahead of you.”

You winced in annoyance. “Dad–”

“You didn’t start the game last night. Why is that? You’re always first in sequence as the right fielder.”

You gripped your coffee cup. You don’t know how to answer. He would surely have a negative reaction, but you wanted to tell him the truth about Sato.

Speaking of Sato, you researched about him last night. Kenji Sato, number 7, LA Dodgers. His stats were decent. He might be one of the best players in the Dodgers, but he's nowhere like that here. At the end of the day, stats don't matter. You want to see him in his full potential to believe in his skills. He's built quite a fanbase here in Tokyo, too. Not surprising, he was born here in Japan, anyway.

You turned your head to him. “Shimura decided it’d be great if Sato was first in the court. He’s the best player of the Dodgers back in LA.”

“I know that. He’s a threat. Don't let him be better than you. I saw him, he bats ineptly, you already have an advantage. But even if he’s not a threat to your title, he’d be a threat to the points of the team. And when there is a threat. We eliminate it.”

You want to tell him to give Sato the benefit of the doubt because it’s his first time in the team, but you chose to keep your mouth shut.

“Right.” you turned your head back to your coffee and started fidgeting with the coaster underneath.

“Make sure you maintain your place in that team. Don’t take a place less than being Captain. And do something about that Sato.” you heard him say before he went outside through the main door, not saying a word more. he didn’t even tell you where he’s going, or what time he’ll be home.

You exhaled all the tension out and bowed your head. “Maintain your place in that team.”, yet no “You’ve worked hard enough for your place in that team.”

This is your life, you have to suck it up.

You looked at the picture frame at the side of the tabletop near the fruit basket. You picked it up and looked at your family picture. You caressed your mom’s cheek with your finger. If only… If only she were still here, maybe your dad wouldn’t be this hard on you and things would be a lot better because you don’t have to risk your life working in the KDF.

You’d do anything to be with her again.

Arriving at the Tokyo Dome, you immediately went back to the locker rooms, avoiding your teammates and the interviewers trailing you everywhere. Where are the security guards? When you got in the locker room, they were still following you so you struggled to close the door. The pushy ones were trying to get your attention and pushing the door open. When you locked it you got pushed back upon the impact and lost your balance, resulting in you falling on your behind. You shook your head and caressed your back.

—

“Persistent, aren’t they?” you were shocked when someone offered their hand to help you up. You didn’t even notice some of your teammates were there with you inside.

Ken smiled down at you, with his hand still hanging in the air offering to help you get up. But you didn’t even gesture to reject him, you just scowled at his hand, got up by yourself, and left him hanging.

“Not into accepting help from others. Got it.” Ken withdrew his hand, and muttered to himself. He heard the other teammates’ snickers at the corner. He guesses this is what he gets for being Mr. Helpful.

One of the teammates put an arm over Ken’s shoulder and followed you with his eyes. “Hard shell to crack, isn’t she? That’s how she was always like.”

“Yeah. God knows how long we’ve been teammates, yet she always keeps herself at a distance. No one knows why.” another teammate whispers to him, careful not to be heard by you.

Ken panned in your direction, you were organizing your locker, completely uncaring about your environment. He pursed his lips before removing his teammates’ arms from his shoulder and walking back toward his own locker.

The game started not long after warm-ups. You were first in sequence. He finally saw you play and he must say, you really proved yourself worthy of your title. You were aggressive yet still seemingly holding yourself in restraint. When it was his turn to be in the court, you followed him with your eyes as he walked in. You thought he was about to redeem himself for the disappointment he was last night, but he was even more disappointing tonight. Last night it was just banter, tonight, he picked a fist-fight with the catcher from the other team.

What the hell is he doing this time?

The fight was bad. You can’t even look at their direction or the jumbotron while the referee was holding them from each other. Shimura was humiliated. He yelled to call him off the game and told him to get a time-out.

“The second time you do this, Sato, you’ll be kicked out by the management!” Shimura yelled at his face.

You caught a glimpse of Sato’s fuming mad face when he passed in front of you with a lowered head when he went to the exit to the back of the arena, possibly to the locker room.

You paid him no mind and instead focused on the last game. When the game finished, you didn’t bother to know anymore if your team was fined for Sato’s behavior. You were about to go back to the locker room to get your things after the game but a teammate called your last name to get your attention and told you to wait up.

When you faced him, he was holding his own ice pack to cool his neck. “You’re going to the lockers, right? Can you give Sato an ice pack to help with his face?”

“Who are you to tell me what to do? He did that to himself.” you looked at his ice pack. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“Coach Shimura told us personally to tell you to deliver one to him because you’re the only one Sato doesn’t sneer at.”

You side-eye Shimura to confirm, who has his eyes on you too to see if you’d comply. You take your own unused gel ice pack from the bench, put it in your pocket and turn your back to make your way to the locker room.

When you opened the door, you saw Ken’s topless figure sitting still on the bench in front of his open locker. You two were the only ones inside the dim locker room. He didn’t turn to the door to see who came in when the door made a sound. He can feel someone’s presence behind him, but he doesn’t know it's you.

He felt you walking behind him, he thought it was just another teammate getting his things so he didn’t pay you any mind and just minded his own business.

You went to your own locker first at the opposite side of his. You opened your locker first to get your things before you towered behind him with your hands inside your pockets. His naked back was in full display, he was holding one side of his head in pain, and his eyes were shut. You fished the ice pack from your pocket and dropped it on the bench just beside where he was seated before you turned away.

The soft thud of the ice pack landing on the bench beside Ken shook his eyes open. His eyes first landed on your back that he immediately recognized, before it landed on the ice pack that had your name on it.

Your steps toward the door halted when you heard his voice.

“Thanks.” Ken spoke from behind you.

He waited for you to say something, but you didn’t say anything. Except, you continued to proceed to the door.

When you opened the door, you stopped midway. Your head turned slightly to the right, to his direction.

"Stop being a burden to us. If you have any respect for this team at least, because you clearly don't have any respect towards any of your teammates, you'll either get your shit together or resign."

And then you went forward until you were fully outside the door and left him hanging for the second time, again.

***

taglist (do comment if u wanna be added): @moonjellyfishie @aise-30 @lovingyeet @ririkacchi @mitski9328373 @cheomain @ultrawa

#ken sato fluff #ken sato smut #ken sato imagine #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman rising #ultraman netflix #ultraman x reader #ultraman #kenji sato brainrot #kenji sato fluff #kenji sato

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morownic · 2 months

Text

of fever dreams and jamais vu

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it. (But this one? This one was real.)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns

next — series masterlist · my other works · ao3

a/n: there were a lot of songs that i listened to while writing this (animals) and i do have a playlist of them but i would recommend color tv to listen while reading the flashback part bcs i did write this part with that song on repeat lol. enjoy!

All the world and his wife was scrutinizing Ken Sato the moment he stepped out of the airport and took his first deep breath in his homeland after twenty years. Of course, he welcomed and basked in the attention even if it suffocated him—quite literally, he must add, what with how the reporters and photographers were almost wrestling each other to get a scoop on him. What came after that only gave him a headache after a headache. He had to settle in his new residence, a mansion he bought just 15 minutes away from where his father lived, one that felt way too big for just one person and his supercomputer assistant. He finalized his contract with the Yomiuri Giants, followed by a meeting with all the staff members and a less-than-formal outing with his new teammates to some club in Shibuya he didn’t bother to remember the name of, where he was just constantly reminded that he was alone. The day after that, he had to deal with a hangover, a press conference, and an interview that ticked him off—Ami Wakita, was it?—before ending the night with a bar fight that left his shoulder aching.

Ken was sure he wouldn’t even have considered moving back to Japan nor would he have let his father somehow slip back into his life if it wasn’t for his mother.

With his injury, your father needs you, kiddo.

And so, Ken Sato began his baseball career in Japan with the Yomiuri Giants. He brought the team to their first victory of the season despite a lot of things: how the media was still on his ass about why he would leave his career with the Los Angeles Dodgers behind, how Coach Shimura seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to him, how the pain in his own shoulder would stab and dull with every movement he made. The way his shoulder ached left him wondering if he should have treated it more seriously rather than seeing it as an inconvenience, perhaps put his pride aside to admit that yes, that drunken brawl was fucking stupid, and my shoulder fucking hurts. That was why he didn’t think much of it when Coach Shimura was talking about bringing in some new guy—something about a new performance analyst or whatever—as a matter of fact, he couldn’t care less.

So, imagine his surprise when he showed up to practice and saw a face he hadn’t seen since graduating college in the States. A face that made his breath hitch because one, she was just that beautiful, and two, he had no idea why she would be here. A face that was so familiar he almost threw up from shock, anger, guilt, longing. A face that contorted into contempt at the mere sight of him.

Ken Sato was sure of one thing at that moment.

He was completely, utterly, thoroughly fucked.

Ken Sato wasn’t always the famed world-class baseball star he turned out to be, and she wasn’t always the blunt and tight-lipped new analyst for the Yomiuri Giants she turned out to be.

He was a doe-eyed, lanky Japanese kid who had above average grades in his classes and showed promising results as a slugger for the baseball team. He spent most of his freshman year being stereotyped and made fun of for how he looked and talked, and it only changed because he had his growth spurt in sophomore year. Not only did he become a cleanup hitter by the end of the year, girls were suddenly giving him bedroom eyes in the hallway and guys tried to make up for their borderline bullying by letting him into their cliques. His friendships with them were shallow, really, because they would still poke fun at this old accent even after he had nearly perfected his American accent. Ken took it in stride only because he knew everyone would never make fun of him in baseball, not when he had practically put his school on the map by winning tens of titles and playing in the Senior League. And so, by the end of high school, Ken had baseball to thank for almost everything in his teenagehood.

She, on the other hand, came to high school smart and pretty. Where Ken stood out like a sore thumb, she stood out like a broken finger. Someone being academically gifted and socially relevant was practically unheard of at that time. She was among the top 10 students in freshman year, earned her spot as the leadoff hitter for the softball team in sophomore year, won a national debate championship in junior year, and passed 4 AP classes with flying colors in senior year. She, too, had put the school on the map, perhaps even more contributively than Ken did, so the teachers only kept their grievances for when she skipped class to smoke. Even so, everyone seemed to like her regardless of their cliques; she was always greeted in the hallways, was almost always invited to every party, and had gone out with all the popular students. She could have had it all, and whatever her secrets were, Ken and the other students in their school only knew her as the high school sweetheart, the kind you would see printed next to the definition of high school sweetheart itself.

Ken had seen her in passing during freshman year, but he never really talked to her until they shared three classes together in sophomore year. He remembered that she had approached him first during PE, suddenly speaking to him in fluent Japanese that he nearly had a whiplash. She told him that yes, I know you’re also Japanese and sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, then babbled something about how she felt guilty that she had just been watching while others made fun of him. He didn’t think much of it at first, still surprised that one of the popular girls—if not the popular girl—in his year was actually talking to him. But then, he found himself understanding every word she said whenever she talked in Japanese and replying to whatever she was saying in English; he found himself exchanging notes and numbers with her in math class; he found himself going to the baseball field with her during lunch breaks and seeing who could hit the farthest. He was somehow roped into bringing her home after he offhandedly mentioned her to his mother, and then, they somehow became best friends. He would cover for her whenever she skipped class to smoke, much to his dismay, and she would introduce him to other social circles outside his baseball team, where he found his first girlfriend—who, admittedly, broke up with him because the way he spoke about his “best friend” was laced with more adoration than the first kiss he had with her. He would wait until their practice sessions were over and drive her home, where they would spend at least three hours talking on her porch before he went home, and she would show up to his games with an obnoxious handmade banner that read “KEN SATO THE G.O.A.T,” cheering the loudest whenever he hit a home run. He would pick her up from anywhere almost every time she asked, even if he had to get himself out of bed at two in the morning, and she would hang out at his place every other weekend, bringing fruit baskets and takeouts for his mother. It was somewhat domestic, how she settled in his apartment (and his life) whenever she came over. Ken almost always had to ground himself because his brain would feed him thoughts of a future with her, and his heart would beat so hard it threatened to break out of his ribcage.

But they were just best friends, he thought and said to his friends whenever they asked him about her. Best friends who happened to suck off, eat out, and eat each other’s faces pretty regularly. He found it funny at first, really; one time, their classmates told her that she just wasn’t human, what with how she juggled school and being popular. She only laughed it off, but he thought of how right they were when she came over while he was home alone at the end of sophomore year. There was no way the girl kneeling between his legs was fucking human. Not with that tongue of hers. Not with the way she looked up and batted her eyelashes at him. Not with how she literally gulped down his load in one go and played Tekken on his console as if she hadn’t just given him the best head of his life. She quite literally sucked the soul out of him that day, and he never had another head like that ever since. Even as they started hooking up—strictly platonic, she said, and he just went along with whatever she wanted as long as it was with her—that was still the stuff of his wet dreams, and it remained that way even long after they never saw each other again.

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”

The question caught Ken off-guard not only because it broke the comfortable silence between them, but also the feelings it evoked. Where is she going with this? he thought. A frown was etched on his face as he turned to look at her. Under the soft glow of the star projector in her room, she laid on her back, eyes tracing the constellations that danced across the ceiling. Her breathing was far more steady than his, chest rising and falling slowly behind the thin fabric of his shirt. Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, framing her face as if it was her halo. At that time, her expression was probably the most serene and somber he had ever seen. She’s beautiful, he said to himself, and he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to keep a picture of this moment in his head for his selfish reminiscing should they ever stop being friends. (He hardly thought she meant that they could be more than friends, and he didn’t want to entertain the thought of not having her in his life.)

“Yeah?” He answered and mentally cursed himself for sounding so unsure. After clearing his throat, he corrected himself: “I mean, yeah, why not?”

There was no way she hadn’t seen the way he was staring at her from the corner of her eye. Even if she did, she didn’t turn her head to face him and only hummed in response to his answer. A look of contemplation appeared on her face as she kept quiet for nearly another minute. Ken swore it felt like an eternity.

“What if–” She sighed. “What if we fuck up and hurt each other? What then?”

Ken somehow knew that she already knew that there was no way she could ever fuck him up. (She already did, anyway, literally and figuratively.) Not with how he looked at her, not with how he reached out to hold her hand, not with how he promptly turned his head to face the ceiling once she was turning to look at him. Perhaps, what she was looking for was the reassurance that he wouldn’t fuck her up. He squeezed her hand when the thought crossed his mind.

“I’ll still be your friend anyways,” he said, softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

A chuckle left her lips then. She didn’t let go of his hand as she moved to hover over him, replacing the twinkling manmade constellations in his sight. (He thought she was brighter than any star in the sky, anyway.) He raised his brow when he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned down, her lips nearly closing in on his.

The grin she had on her face was enough to tell him she was up to no good. “Are you a masochist?”

“You–seriously?”

He might’ve groaned from annoyance, but the way her body shook with laughter on top of him was enough to make that godawful warmth bloom in his chest. He pulled her in for a kiss, though he wasn’t sure if it was to shut her up or if he just wanted to, and he thought that if anyone were to see them like this, no one would ever believe him if he told them that they were just best friends. Hell, everyone had enough of his answer whenever they asked him about it at school, and he was even picked on again at some point—but not for how he looked or talked. No, he was picked on for being her “best friend” because no matter how many people had tried to make her theirs, she kept coming back to him. But then they would find Ken making out with one of the cheerleaders under the bleachers and her sucking off some guy from the football team at some senior’s house party. It was confusing for everyone, but even more so for Ken, because every time she asked him to pick her up from God-knows-where, he would see red when she saw her huffing out a smoke, disheveled because of someone who was not him.

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it.

“–Sato.”

Two things snapped Ken out of his trance then. First, it was the voice that called out to him, then it was the pain in his shoulder. Ken found himself standing on the batter box in Tokyo Dome, a bat in his hand, and his breath was ragged. The seats were empty, the sky was turning dark, and then he remembered that he was at practice. He was at practice, not on the porch at her old house in Los Angeles holding her close as she cried over that one guy who supposedly broke her heart. He was at practice, not at the frat party where he met her again for the first time after months of no contact and saw her giggling on the lap of some jock. He was at practice, not in front of the diner they used to go to almost every other day where he said awful things he didn’t mean and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason why she had left for Japan the next day. (She had waited for him to come to the airport, to at least apologize, but he never came. He had turned off his phone during practice.)

Ken sighed and lowered his bat, hissing when he rolled his left shoulder. He steadied his breathing and regained his composure before his eyes flickered to the field. His teammates were waiting for him to hit another ball so they could continue their fielding practice. Then, he turned to the one in front of him—Yoshida, right?—whose voice pulled him out of his train of thought. Yoshida raised his brow when he locked eyes with Ken.

“Are you distracted or something?”

It was his turn to frown. “What?”

“Are you distracted by the new girl or something? You kept looking back at the dugout earlier.”

Ken almost dropped his bat when he heard that, his neck turning so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t give himself a whiplash. “What?”

Yoshida nodded in the direction of the dugout, and Ken turned to look. His grip around the bat tightened as his eyes darted towards the dugout. Her back was facing the field, leaning against the metal fence that divided the field and the dugout. Her arms held a clipboard to her chest, and he could only see her side profile from where he was standing as she spoke with Coach Shimura. The two of them looked familiar already—he really didn’t know how she did it, given that he was still at odds with the coach, but it was so her, he thought, the way she could get along with all the people he couldn’t—as Coach Shimura was talking more expressively with her than he had ever seen him. She was nodding to whatever Coach Shimura was talking about with a smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and he berated himself because why and how the fuck could you tell from this distance? Ken’s lips parted as Coach Shimura’s expression changed and nodded in his direction, and his breath hitched as he saw her turning slightly towards him.

Ken’s heart dropped as the smile on her face faltered, replaced by an unimpressed look and an air of disdain that made him shiver. The world seemed to stop right then and there; even when she looked at him as if he was the reason behind her suffering—which was probably true, to an extent—he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she was. Even with the hint of blood between her slightly cracked lips and the dark circles under her eyes that she didn’t bother to hide with some concealer. Even with how she looked even paler than she was when they were still in Los Angeles and how her cheekbones seemed to protrude and her cheeks seemed more hollow. She was beautiful, yet she contrasted her old self, which bothered him so much that dread started to pool in his stomach. Ken knew her and would even say he knew too much of her. But, right at that moment, it was as if he was looking straight into a stranger’s eyes and not the pair he had fallen in love with, as if he was looking at the stuff of his nightmares and not the girl of his dreams, as if he had never known her at all.

(What if it was true?)

Ken pinched his arm, hard, and winced when the pain seared through his body and kickstarted another throbbing ache in his shoulder. None of the stuff of his fever dreams, the dread and peculiarity of it, should have been real. This was real. So, if this was real, then God must not only be fucking joking, but He must’ve been thoroughly fucking evil to be putting him through this.

“Oh, fuck.”

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mo0nfairy · 3 months

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𖥔 ࣪ ㅤ۪ 🪷 🪺 ⸺ 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨 !

♫ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 — 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞

˚ ✩ 🛍️ ｡ ˚ ✧ * ｡ 🍞

𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

( 📦 ) . . . 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗦, 𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗸𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗻𝗮𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

( 📦 ) . . . 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗲𝘁.

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

( 📦 ) . . . 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗲𝘁.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬

( 📦 ) . . . 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗲𝘁.

#kenji sato #ken sato #ultraman #ultraman rising #masterlist #yandere #yandere kenji sato #yandere ken sato #yandere ultraman #yandere ultraman rising #kenji sato imagine #ken sato imagine #ultraman imagine #ultraman rising imagine #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #ultraman x reader #ultraman rising x reader

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aamircoeur · 3 months

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"go to sleep, baby." you slurred. it was 2 in the morning and you were barely awake after feeling kenji move around in your shared bed.

"mnh," he hummed. "not yet . ." ken turned your body to face him.

"baby, go sleep, it's so late." you reasoned. even though you had your eyes closed, kenji shook his head as a response and held you by the hips before pulling you in. kenji lowered his head to meet yours and kissed the top of your head, before moving towards your forehead and showering it with kisses.

"my baby," he cooed, kissing your eyebrows then kissing your closed eyelids, before lowering his body and kissing the bridge of your nose. "my lovely," he said as he pulled your chest closer, pressing it against his.

you let out small giggles while he peppered your face with small, hearty kisses. you slowly opened your eyes to adjust to the bedroom's dim lighting while he continued his kisses to the apples of your cheeks. your eyes followed his face as he kept adjusting himself to kiss every part of your sleepy face. you noticed his heavy breaths that smelled like mint, his droopy eyes, and his flushed cheeks.

"you must be tired, my love." you said, reaching your hands to cup his cheeks. this made him stop his kisses. he looked into your eyes so lovingly that you felt like melting.

"don't worry, baby." he said, a sad look was displayed on his tired face. "i'm sorry i got home late, love. i wanted to come home to you as soon as we won the game, but coach shimura insisted on an after party for team building, and i," ken sighed and closed his eyes before finally capturing a kiss from your lips. "i'm so tired, baby, i missed you so fucking much."

you smiled at him as he kept his eyes closed while he talked. you leaned in and kissed his nose then his lips. the kiss was slow, deep, and tired, and loving. it was restful. you were kenji's rest. "i missed you too, baby," you said, opening your eyes and looking into his. "let's rest, my love. you can tell me all about it tomorrow, okay?"

kenji nodded. "mhm. thank you." he smiled.

"good night, kenji."

"good night, my baby."

#ken sato hcs #ken sato headcanons #ken sato imagines #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman rising #kenji sato #ultraman netflix #ultraman

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aennasan · 2 months

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Imagine accidentally moving away to avoid Kenji Sato’s kiss.

You did not mean it, of course. It was just instinct. Pure instinct of someone who had been single for so long.

He was your first boyfriend, and you are still not used to affection, especially, public display of affection.

It was a moment too late when you finally realized what you have done. You looked back at him, and he was just there.

Standing, mouth agape, surprised, and still processing what you have done.

However, before you can even utter an apology, you were met with a scowling Kenji, who is now walking towards you, stomping his feet, large hands cupping both of your cheeks firmly, and lips sealed yours with a searing kiss.

1, 2, 3… You do not know how long that kiss lasted but you know it was long enough when he let go of you— a panting mess, breathless, red faced, and lip swollen.

After that, he made sure to train you to get used to his affection. With a promise that the “accident”would never ever happen again between the two of you.

#I’m back from the dead and still thinking why Kenji Sato is not real #kenji sato ultraman rising #kenji sato fic #kenji sato x you #kenji sato imagine #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato ultraman #kenji x reader #kenji sato #kenji sato x y/n #ken sato x you #ken sato x y/n #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman x y/n #ultraman x you #ultraman rising x reader #ultraman rising #ultraman

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angelltheninth · 2 months

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Kenji "Ken" Sato Isn't Tired When He Wants to Please You

Pairing: Kenji "Ken" Sato x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, gentle sex, clit stimulation, soft sex, cunnilingus, orgasm denial

A/N: More thirst for new best dad Ken Sato!

What's great about Ken Sato is that no matter how tired he is he will still give it his all in making love to you

He'll take his sweet time too, ignoring your arguments about him needed to rest because what he needs is to make you come all over his face as he holds your legs spread open on the big bed

Slow, almost calculated licks against your clit make your words die on your lips, replaced by soft moans and whimpers, your hands run through his hair, noting how it's still damp from sweat

Ken Sato doesn't bother taking a shower when he comes home from practice, he makes a straight line to the bedroom where he knows you're waiting for him

Pampering soft kisses against your pussy still makes you shudder

He's teasing you, wants to drag this out for as long as possible despite you telling him you want to come

Pulls his mouth away when he knows you're close and smirks when he feels you pull on his hair

Oh, so now you don't want him to stop, you want him to keep licking and sucking on your clit

Your moans are better music for him than any cheer of the crowd so he strives for it harder than a homerun at a game

His smirk is plastered all over his face as you moan his name, loudly and he presses his open mouth against your pussy, lapping up all your horny juices

Now he can go to sleep

#ken sato x reader #ken sato imagines #ken sato headcanons #ken sato smut #ken sato x female reader #ultraman x reader #ultraman imagine #ultraman headcanons #ultraman x you #ultraman x female reader #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato imagine #kenji sato headcanons #kenji sato smut #kenji sato x female reader #x female reader

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onlydijah · 3 months

Text

જ⁀➴ FAMILIARITY ❪ LES ❫

𝜗𝜚 CATCH IT! fem!reader, mentions of kissing and intimacy (no smut).

𝜗𝜚 WORDS FROM ME! this is NAWT❌ “fluff of the year” material i fear LMFAO i lwk lied thru my teeth srry guys🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️ wrote this instead of finishing part 2 of “BAD HABIT” but that’s almost done and should be out next week!

𝜗𝜚 :: time was never in KENJI’S favor, however, the very few and far between times it was, he never hesitated to devote it to you.

✧ WORDCOUNT :: 986

“KENJI! STOP!” you giggled, keeping your voice low as you ultimately failed to remove yourselves from Kenji’s firm grip.

“Come on baby, just 5 minutes,” he pleaded, “They won't even notice I'm gone, promise.” Kenji stuck out his pinky, eyes filled with a mix of mischief and devotion, praying his pleas didn’t fall upon deaf ears.

You anxiously looked side-to-side, analyzing the barren hallways for any sound or sign of people approaching. “2 minutes.”

“Fine.” Kenji conceded in a breath, too shortsighted to realize how little time your compromise left him with. You extended your pinky, to which he hooked his around, yanking you through the wide, changing room doors.

The state of the art equipment, carefully selected decor and pleasant hum of the electronics in the room were all drowned out as soon as Kenji crashed his lips onto yours, his soft breathing fanning your face.

You pushed him into a chair, pressing small, glassy pink proclamations of endearment on his chiseled face, courtesy of the strawberry flavored lip gloss you had applied moments prior.

Kenji dipped his head back in merriment, ghosting your lower back with his hands, leaving just enough space for you to move freely, but still close enough to catch you if you faltered in your straddled position. As he relished in the warmth of your tender affection and the feeling of your muffled giggles against this skin, you focused on other parts of his alluring face. The side of his nose, below his cheekbone— anywhere you might have missed.

“Is this gonna stain?” He remarked lowly, his slender fingers subconsciously pressing shapes into the sides of your hips.

“Shhh— don’t ruin the moment,” you pleaded, continuing. The changing room was pitch black, the only source of light being the measly floor lamp which was in desperate need of lightbulb change. The faint illumination covered Kenji's face like a soft blanket, softening his harsh features.

As the minutes dwindled into seconds, the faint roaring of the crowd began to get progressively louder, now being audible from inside the room you occupied. Your lips nuzzled against his neck, rolling down the skin tight, black compression shirt’s turtleneck and placing more tinted imprints down his neck.

Everything was serene and cozy, until you pulled away quickly when you heard discernible footsteps passing by the suite, the soft noise bringing you back to reality. The boy in front of you let out a small groan, voicing his displeasure with your sudden cut of contact. But looking at it from an outsider’s point of view; you were in an unlocked staff only room, perched on their star player’s lap, with smudged lips matching the exact color of kiss marks that were now littered across his face.

Suddenly, Kenji’s dissatisfaction wasn’t your biggest concern anymore.

You stood up instantly, flattening out your lightly wrinkled jersey and stealing Kenji’s black baseball cap, smoothing out your disheveled hair to the best of your ability and placing it on your head. “Okay, that was waymore than 2 minutes..” You proclaimed, smiling slyly when you glanced at Kenji’s flushed face.

His eyebrows drew in with discontent, “Can I atleast have my hat back?” He grumbled with mock venom. “Nope, you don't need it. I do.” you replied. Grabbing a mini rolled towel from the side table next to you, you began to lightly rub off the reflective marks one by one with the same care you inhibited when began intricately placing them, “You look funny, I should leave you like this.” You giggled, seizing hold of his chin. “Look to the left for me please,” Kenji obliged silently, turning his head.

As you gently wiped his face, his eyes couldn’t help but wander to yours, housing a foreign look of deep affection and devotion. He admired how your hair fell by your side when you looked down, and the soft touch of your manicured fingers on his skin.

Finishing quickly, you left only one by his neck. You adjusted the neckline fabric tediously, hiding the kiss to the best of your ability. You glanced up at him, surprised at the way his eyes had been focused on yours for quite some time now, eyelids glossy and mind deep in thought.

“Ken—“

“Kenji?” a deep voice called, footsteps nearing closer.

“Shit!” He whispered under his breath, “Okay, you should go now,” he gave a breathy laugh, the whites of his teeth peeking out as he smiled feebly.

“Bye Ken, good luck,” you wished him well, stealthy running out the room’s back door. Giggling as you silently passed by his manager.

Cade opened the door slowly, greeted by the ominous darkness and silence of the area. “H-hello? Ken. They need you out there, now!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Kenji turned around, frantically looking for… something? “I’m.. where did I put it?” Kenji mumbled to himself.

“Your helmet?” Cade blurted out, unsure.

“Yup, that mhm.” Kenji latched onto the premature lie, nodding his head slowly, the movement stiff and constrained in motion.

“Umm..” The elder stared at the player curiously, “Well I’m sure they have extras on the pitch, let’s go!”

SAFE TO SAY YOUR “LUCKY CHARM” WORKED, the giants winning 8-3.

“We should do that again sometime, huh? Before every game would be great.” Kenji smirked in your ear, walking beside you to the exit.

“Nuh-uh No more. 3 more seconds and we would’ve been caught.” You shook your head stubbornly, grabbing his hand and turning a corner.

“And?” Kenji quirked his brow, dumbfounded.

“Let me rephrase that..” you abrubtly freezed, “3 more seconds and I would’ve got caught— me.”

“I’m still not seeing the problem?” Kenji questioned, stopping along with you.

You huffed, “How do I explain this to you— I would look like a groupie.”

“Ohhhh” he smiled, “Yea I see it now, ‘s a shame.”

“Yea.”

masterlist

#𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒. ⟡ كتابات #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you #ken sato x you #kenji sato x y/n #ultraman rising #ken sato #ken sato x y/n #ken sato imagines #ken sato x reader #kenji x reader #kenji sato #fanfic #ultraman x reader #x reader #kensato

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miirohs · 3 months

Text

birds of a feather [k.s]

pairing: Ken Sato x GN!Reader wc: 1.4k cw: bad hurt/comfort (?) an: i got that skibidi found family type brainrot fs 😂 on gyatt.... anyways i promise i will get back to writing formula one but i need to simp for this man solidly. also i can't write hurt/comfort ive said this a million times but ugh man does it suck to write.

The house in Japan was a lot more peaceful than the one in the States. More secluded, quietly overlooking the city.

Every day you came home from work, the house dark and empty with Ken gone to his other job.

You didn’t bother him about it, keeping the delicate balance between his two jobs. You didn’t mind it either. It gave you time to yourself, time to adjust, but you weren’t sure you could’ve said the same about Ken.

Ever since his last run-in with the KDF, he’d been exhausted. His eyebags only grew instead of shrinking, and his watch went off almost every possible moment it could. You had asked him what was wrong, but he’d never been one to let you lick his wounds for him, watering it down to some kind of side effect of the stress on him.

Unlocking the doors, you hopped inside, pulling your shoes off as you looked around.

You could hear the tv running in the background, the clinking ice against metal. It wasn’t strange for him to be off duty after games, but you just assumed he wouldn’t be.

The beatdown was probably worse than usual, if you had to guess.

You wandered into the living room, and there he was, sitting in his ice bath. You couldn’t see much because of how dark the room was, but part of his face was lit by the replays on the screen.

You could almost make out his eyes narrowing at the screen, huffing as he sunk deeper into the water.

“Ken?” He turned to you, eyes pained as he pushed himself up.

“Hi baby.” He greeted softly, a hand tenderly moving to his side as he turned to you.

“Are you okay-“

“I’m fine.” You flinched at the strained quality of his voice.

“My bad. I was just trying to check on you.” You mumbled, holding up your hands as you stood stuck to your spot.

He saw, and his eyes softened, extending an inviting hand to you.

“I’m sorry. The seasons been kind of rough lately.” He murmured as he held your hand gently, squeezing it.

You hummed in response, eyes trailing down the expanse of his body. You could see some bruising, blooming in splotches of yellow, purple and red under his skin. It looked like it hurt.

“I’m taking it you got into a fight on field?”

“Not this time, no,” He scoffed, leaning against the warmth of your hand, “I collapsed, tried crawling my way to the last base, and failed. I was so close to getting those points.” The last part was tinged with embarrassment, his face pulled into a grimace as your hand ran across his arm.

“That's terrible, I'm sorry Ji.” He shrugged, eyes staring ahead at the screen, those embarrassing scenes reflecting back in his eyes. “It is what it is.”

“So you’re off duty tonight then?” He sighed, nodding reluctantly.

“For now, but who knows?” He said sullenly. You couldn’t stop your hopes from crashing entirely, hand slipping out of his unconsciously.

“Don’t look at me like that, you know how it is. I can’t control what happens, I…” He stopped, a look of regret creeping onto his face.

“I'll join you in a bit. Promise I'll try not to leave tonight?” He tried softly, looking at you with poorly disguised hope in his eyes.

It worked, and you released the breath you were holding.

“You’ll be okay?”

He didn’t respond, and you didn’t push him for one, quietly leaving the room.

True to his word, he appeared at the door an hour later, dragging himself across the threshold. He looked worse than he did earlier, wincing slightly as he sat down on the edge of the bed, hunched over into himself.

“That must have been one really good ice bath…” You trailed off, eyes narrowing at the various injuries on his arm.

“Those look awfully fresh Ji, did you at least get Mina to look at those?”

“No! No. Uh, no. I didn’t want her to.” He spluttered, crossing his arms. You couldn’t see his face, but you could almost imagine the expression he was making.

“Take off your shirt.” He blinked, a baffled look on his face as turned to you.

“No, why the-“

“Take off your shirt Ken, don’t make me say it again.”

He crossed his arms tighter as you got closer, hand outstretched. You paused, looking at him.

“Would you be okay with me looking?”

He nodded reluctantly, grumbling about not wanting to make a big deal out of it. He had turned away from you, breathing uneven as you got closer.

You pulled up his shirt, heart thumping at the sight. It was worse than what you’d seen earlier.

“Ji, what is this? How…?” He didn’t respond immediately, rubbing his face as he took a deep breath

“I didn’t think they were that bad,” He muttered, wincing as he pulled the shirt over his head, holding it in his hands tightly, “Not as bad as they were last week, babe.”

“How did you even get these?” You questioned, finger tracing up his spine, avoiding the poorly bandaged cuts and bruising.

“Do I have to tell you?” He said, flustering you with the defensiveness in his tone.

“No. No, you don’t have to.” You reaffirmed quietly, returning to your side of the bed to rummage through your night chest till you found what you needed. “But I would’ve liked it if you did.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I figured it would be. Hold still for me?”

You shook the bottle of neosporin, spraying down the wounds. He tensed up, a squeak escaping his lips.

“It hurts!”

“Would you rather Mina do it?”

He shook his head.

“That’s what I thought. Luckily these were already somewhat decently clean. That bruising looks like a muscle injury though.” You whistled, setting down the neosporin in favor of some bandaids.

He continued to let him work on your, mostly silent other than the occasional wincing. You could tell he was trying his hardest to play tough, unaware you could see through it all.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” He muttered suddenly, fists clenching the bedsheets as you gently laid the bandages on his back. “It’s not fair to you.”

“Kenji, I know it's tough for you, but I'm here because I want to be. I care about you." You scooted to the edge of the bed, looping a hand into his loosening fist.

The dim lights highlighted the sharpness of his face, eyes cutting through the dimmed light as they looked out the window. He looked beautiful, as exhausted as he was.

“I want to tell you. I don’t know if there will ever be a right time for you, and you deserve better than me being on the move all day and night.”

“Nope.” You popped the p, clutching his hand tighter. “We promised to stick together, remember? Hell, I followed you all the way from the states because I was confident we could work together. So, I need you to speak to me. Make it work.”

A heartbeat passed. And then he spoke.

“The pressure, the expectations... I feel like I'm constantly running, trying to keep up." He confessed quietly, “There's a lot riding on what I’ve done.”

“Something tells me you’re not talking about baseball.”

“I’m not,” He laughed humorlessly, “I’m just worried I’m not doing enough. That I’m not enough.”

"Ken," you said softly, turning to him “I can’t pretend to understand what you do, but you’re making so many people proud. Your mother, your father, me.”

His eyes were glossed over, and he brought up an arm to cover them, sniffing slightly.

“I hope you know I’m here for you. Birds of a feather, we gotta stick together, you know? I’d follow you to hell and back Ken, and you know that.” You continued, bringing up his hand to press a kiss to it.

He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the tears. "Thank you," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "For everything."

“Of course,” you replied, leaning against him carefully.

“The next time you get injured, just let Mina or me know, understand?”

“Perfectly.”

#ken sato x reader #ken sato imagine #kenji sato / reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato / reader #ultraman rising #ultraman rising imagine #ultraman x reader #ultraman rising netflix #ultraman: rising #ultraman rising x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert

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spurbleu · 2 months

Text

patching up Ken Sato…

↓︎❤︎

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

Your anger peeled from the cap of your tongue in rattle-trap breaths, a python coiling around your lungs, fangs in trachea. It festered aimlessly in your belly, sparking at your finger tips as you navigated the dozens of blemishes across Kenji’s face.

Sedentary anxiety. Dulled by the early morning draft in the basement of his house, sleep tugging at your bloated eyes. Cool iron’s impotent attempt to soothe the insecurity in your nursing hands, plum cast across the base of your frown- bitten oblivion.

He knew exactly what this did to you- mortal, daft thing. Familiar with the stutters of your heart as he crumples into the porch dust, aware of the hysteria that appears in the pleats of your finger tips. Enough to drive a someone mad, but never drive them off.

Guilt buried its ugly head in the grooves of his palm, flat against the dip of your hips. Eyes careful, nostalgic, as you swallowed in satisfaction at you foster. You were getting better at this.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s infuriating, how quickly he opens the wiry cage of forgiveness- a bird called mercy fluttering in the apex of your throat. You curled into his chest, humming into the flushed, bruised tendons that built his neck.

Sometimes you’d find yourself confusing the marks you made with the Kaiju’s.

A man, split.

“I love you.”

You were too tired to say it back- but he found it in the bandages that held him together.

#something to chew on while I work on a bigger fic tehe #ken sato x reader #ken sato x you #kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you #oneshot #ultraman rising #fanfiction #gn reader #kenji x reader #ken sato #fanfic #spurbleu✴︎‧︎⁎︎imagines

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smolkooks · 2 months

Text

incoming call... - kenji sato.

a/n: 2k words of one of my late night thoughts turned into a fluffy, exes to lovers fic. exes au, vet!y/n x kenji sato from ultraman: rising.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

“kenji?”

“y/n?”

you hadn’t expected to run into him here, and it seemed that he hadn’t either, from the way he was dressed. contrary to how you usually saw him on t.v. during his interviews, he was in shambles. kenji sato was dressed in a sweatset, stained with what smelled like...fish juice?...down the front. his eyes were dim, yet panicked—perhaps at seeing you, but you weren’t sure. was his hair...wet? what the fuck?

it had been more than eight years since you’d last seen him—at highschool graduation, when you’d moved to sydney for university, and he’d disappeared to the states. not that kenji sato could disappear, with how often you saw him on your t.v. screen.

“what...what are you doing here?” he stuttered, furrowing his annoyingly perfect brows. he looked exactly as you remembered, save for his current, unorganised state. just...older. better.

“well, i just got off work,” you said equally as awkwardly, gesturing at your scrubs, “um...just, heading home now.”

truth be told, this was an insanely random place to have run into him. ten minutes from your apartment block, with no shopping districts around or really any reason for him to be here at all. all that there was in your district was a river, which was nearby—so close you could still hear it from here.

“you walk?” he said incredulously, eyes fixated on your badge—dr. y/n, head veterinarian.

“uh, yeah,” you said, shifting a bit under his sharp gaze as his dark eyes shifted to meet yours. the same way he’d looked at you, all those years ago, that day. sad, but hopeful.

ken, we should...i mean, i think we should break up.

the words were as clear in your memory as day, and you forced yourself to swallow and block out those intruding thoughts.

“let me drive you,” he said quietly, after a beat, and as you opened your mouth to protest that you only lived ten minutes away, he said, “please.”

“kenji, you look really tired,” you said hesitantly, “you should head home and rest.”

“trust me,” he said with a sigh, “there’s no rest to be found in my home right now.”

you wondered what that meant. but he didn’t give you any time before he abruptly gestured down the street and wordlessly began walking you towards his car.

if you’d asked yourself twenty minutes ago, you wouldn’t have believed that you would be sitting in your highschool boyfriend’s 300-thousand-dollar porsche. and yet, here you were, buckled into the passenger seat, feeling more awkward than ever as you typed your address into his phone.

“i thought you were in sydney, to be honest,” he said, finally breaking the silence as he started the car, sweeping his hair back with his other hand.

“i moved back a year ago,” you explained as you propped his phone up on the stand he had for it, pressing start on the google maps directions, “worked in sydney for three years after grad, then got a job offer to be promoted to head vet back here in japan. couldn’t pass it up. besides, my mum’s here and i wanted to be with her.”

“you don’t live with her, though?” he said. of course, he’d noticed that your address had changed. he had spent more hours at your house than he’d probably spent at school in all six years of secondary school combined.

“yeah, i wanted my own place,” you said with a soft laugh, “i’ve got a few pets. they would drive her mad, with how loud they are.”

kenji huffed, “kids can be so damn loud.”

that caught you off guard, and you turned to him, shocked, and if not a little embarrassed. of course, kenji already had kids! he was a young, extremely wealthy man who of course would’ve married by now. you’d done well for yourself, but you knew you couldn’t compare to kenji sato.

“kids?” you couldn’t help yourself, the sharp question slipping out before you could process and revealing your surprise.

“uh—it’s complicated,” he said quickly, “wait, that sounds wrong—not that it’s complicated, just—well, she’s not really my kid—,”

“so you’re a stepdad,” you asked, confused.

“not really,” he replied, one hand running through his hair again, messing it up more, “she’s my pet, i guess. pet...lizard.”

your eyes lit up, “oh my god, i love lizards. i wish i could have one, too—maybe a gecko? but i have too many cats right now.”

“i wish i had a cat, instead,” kenji rolled his eyes, “she’s so whiney.” but there was affection tucked in his voice, and you picked up on it even without having to see his half-smile in the mirror.

“i’ll have to visit, then, to see your lizard.”

“and you, your cats,” he shot back as he parked by the curb, “you weren’t lying when you said you lived close by.”

you laughed, “why would i lie?”

he shrugged in response.

“get back safe,” you said, as you stepped out and reached to shut the door, “thank you for the ride. it was really nice to catch up.”

“yeah—well, you too,” he said, biting his lip as he seemed like he wanted to ask something else—you knew that look on his face better than anyone.

“what? spit it out,” you said jokingly, narrowing your eyes.

“oh...” he chuckled nervously, “um, can i have your number? yknow, your new one.”

you were caught off guard by him, yet again. “sure. it’s the same as it was. has yours changed?”

“yeah, actually...gotta change mine a lot, these days,” he looked really embarrassed by that, “what with the baseball stuff. i’ll call you. we need to catch up properly.”

i missed you. his eyes seemed to say, and something in your stomach fluttered at his earnest expression.

“we do,” you replied, before shutting the door, “see you, kenji.”

he waited until you’d headed upstairs before he drove off.

***

incoming call...unknown caller id.

“what the...?” you rubbed your eyes as your vibrating phone woke you up from your afternoon nap. you’d taken a fond liking to naps these days, after taking on so many emergency late night shifts at the clinic.

groggily, you picked up the phone and immediately was met with the sound of heavy breathing, which creeped you out, truth be told, and just as you were reaching to hang up on the creep, a familiar voice rasped out, “y/n, help me.”

“what the fuck? kenji?” you shot upright, panicked at his desperate tone, “what’s wrong?”

“are you free, right...now?”

“uh, well—i guess? i just got back from work, so...”

“sorry,” he said quickly, “to bother you. i’m just having trouble with my...lizard...and i didn’t know who else to ask. i can pay you—as much as you want—or—,”

“no, kenji, it’s fine,” you cut him off smoothly, “don’t be ridiculous. where are you? i did say i wanted to meet your lizard, anyway.”

***

you should’ve expected that kenji sato would live in a district as boujee as this. the buildings seemed to rise higher than your eyes could see, going all the way up into the clouds that shrouded the twilight sky. the cars here were all black and silver, with tinted, dark windows. it felt like a different world to your neighbourhood, and yours was already the nicer of the bunch.

“kenji, i think i’m here, but i don’t know how to get up,” you said into your phone, confused by all the security mechanisms and fancy technology that surrounded the large glass door before you. plus, your hands were pretty occupied—your phone squished between your cheek and shoulder, one hand holding your first aid kit—reptile-specialised—and the other your coat and bag of other equipment that you felt like you might need, if his lizard was in such bad condition that he’d called you up out of nowhere.

“give me a sec, i’m coming.”

as promised, the very man appeared moments later, looking just slightly more put together than the last time you’d seen him. at least this time, his hair was dry.

“thanks for coming,” he said hastily as he let you in, leading you to the set of elevators that awaited you, “i...i didn’t know who else to call. i really don’t know that many people here i’d want to talk to, and i’ve been really lonely lately, it’s kinda...sorry, i’m ranting, but i’m going through it and...anyway, i’m glad to see you.”

you found his ranting kind of endearing. you knew it was something he only did when he was really nervous—just like he’d always done, even when you two were just kids—and it made you feel young again, talking to him. like you were talking to your very first crush.

well, you supposed in a way, you were.

in the elevator, he was largely silent, although you could sense his stress—as if he had something to tell you but was too scared, his leg bouncing and fidgeting nonstop with the bottom of his shirt.

finally, as he went to swing open his apartment door opened, he blurted out, “don’t freak out.”

when you looked inside, you understood why.

and it was too late, because you were already freaking out. you dropped all your supplies in your shock, eyes widening and feet stumbling backwards.

“kenji, what—what is that—,”

there was a gigantic lizard before you. a gigantic one, and when you said gigantic, you meant it. it was at least...ten times bigger than you, and you’d never seen anything like that, before.

“um...emi...she’s a kaiju,” he said sheepishly, wringing his hands.

“what the—,”

“a baby!” he said quickly, “and i raised her, so she’s just a little cutie. but...you know, she’s growing up and i think she’s going through puberty or something. i don’t know! she’s just really struggling emotionally these days and i can’t figure it out. i’m her dad and i can’t figure it out and i’m not home often enough to look after her twenty-four-seven. please give me a chance. i’ll pay you—i’ll do whatever.”

“uh, kenji,” you said cautiously, leaning down to pick your stuff up, “you know that i know nothing about kaiju, right?” he leant down beside you to help you, cheeks tinted pink.

“it’s okay, can you try?”

“i can try, i guess,” you said dubiously, but you had to admit that you were at least curious. you’d never been this close to a kaiju before, and if anything, they were still animals of some sort. you wanted to see. you wanted to learn.

you didn’t really hear kenji’s blurted out thanks as you carefully crept closer to the sleeping pink creature, knocked out completely, curled up on her side. pulling out a stethoscope, you started to gently listen to her heartbeat from her wrist—the closest part of her you felt safe enough to touch, and she stirred, but didn’t wake.

it sounded normal—you guessed. for a creature as big as her, you supposed her heart rate would be really slow. especially when sleeping.

you did all your checks without her really waking, and that was ideal—you’d prefer she didn’t. as much as kenji reassured you that she was harmless, you were dubious that a creature this big wouldn’t hurt you.

“kenji,” you said, after you were done, unpacking some of your medications, “she’s growing up. she’s hitting prepubescence, you’re right. but also, she’s sick.”

“w-what do you mean? she’s—,”

“she has a cold,” you explained, and his panic deflated slightly as you gave him the largest bottle you had in your supplies, “you can give these to her. this’ll only last her today, so you’ll have to buy a shit ton of this medication, but i’ll give you a prescription and the phone of my supplier so you can get it fast. she should be okay in a week or so. but then again, she’s a kaiju, so it may take longer, depending.”

when you looked up, kenji was looking at you deeply, so earnestly and so gratefully, the bottle of pills set on the kitchen bench beside the two of you. you were closer to him than you’d been for years—even closer than that day on the car. suddenly, you were hyper aware of the way you swallowed as you met his gaze, your heart rate quickening.

“thank you, y/n,” he said quietly, “i...” he didn’t come closer, but he glanced down at his own hands before looking back up, “i really missed you, you know.”

“i missed you too, kenji,” you breathed, in disbelief a bit at the way you felt—just like you used to feel whenever he looked at you. you hoped he couldn’t hear how quick and heavily your heart was pounding ink your chest.

he broke out into a warm smile, “i’m really glad i ran into you, that night.”

***

incoming call...kenji sato.

you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face as you reached for your buzzing phone.

“hello?”

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reesespeanutbutterfuck · 3 months

Text

love marks & battle scars

[rival! enemy! ken sato x baseball teammate! undercover KDF agent! reader]

part 1

drabble | part 2

pairing: kenji sato x reader

cw: sfw for now, rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, hardcore!intimidating!reader, matsui’s daughter!reader, cursing, minimal details are changed to fit into the storyline, ken and reader will get kinda freaky eventually, spicy themes, allusions to sex, mdni u have been warned !!! don make me come for u D:< !!!, girldad!kenji, reader becomes emi’s mother figure, goofy ahhhh writing as usual

a/n: ch one takes place in ken's first game in the beginning btw

ken sato, your egotistical new teammate has been ticking you off and thinning your patience, being a threat to your place in yomiuri giants.

ultraman, your nemesis who always gets in the way of your job in the kdf, that you only joined in hopes of finding leads and getting clues to track your parents.

and somehow you even ended up being a co-parenting his… kaiju daughter. something you never signed up for.

What beautiful, festive night with clear skies it is tonight.

After lazily strolling through the back of the arena, Ken finally found his way to the open door leading to the bleachers, where he can already see the bright lights inside the dome and hear the cheers of the lively crowd. He elatedly took a deep breath before he entered the arena through the entrance that led him to his designated team, all in the middle of having an adrenaline rush.

It was his first time playing as a member of the Yomiuri Giants. Very exciting. There really is nothing that gives his system a fulfilling rush than baseball.

Ah, what a nice night to–

“Oi, Sato!”

Be nagged. Great way to prepare for a game.

“He-hey! Shimura!” with a smug smile, he merrily raised to greet Shimura like how an old friend would to another. “Nice team. Is the place for Captain open? Because I’d love to take you up on that.”

Shimura annoyedly narrowed his eyes at him. “Lucky you, it’s open, and also unlucky you, because that spot is good as reserved this season.”

Ken slightly tilted his head, “What’cha mean by reserved?”

“Technically, the Captain of last season would still be the unofficial Captain of this season until a new one gets decided. And I don’t plan to replace my current Captain anytime. Unless someone in the team can surpass them. Only the best players in my team are chosen as the Captain.”

He registered the information he heard. Just like an heir to a throne. A King. That sure sounds nice.

“So, this former Captain-current unofficial Captain of yours has been the team Captain for consecutive seasons? Then, that must’ve only meant he’s unbeatable. He better watch his back if he wants to maintain his streak.” now that he’s here, surely not.

Shimura failed to contain the slight smirk that plastered itself on one side of his lips. In the side of his face that is out of Ken’s line of vision, so Ken doesn’t see. He thinks, clearly he doesn’t know what he’s saying nor who he's dealing with.

“I’ll introduce you to the acting Captain of this team as a formality.” he chose to play it cool and not push it further, it’d be better if he observes you himself.

“Where’s [L/N]?” Shimura asked the busy team, getting their attention to him and Ken because of the mention of the last name. He scanned the team, seemingly looking for someone yet guessing from his furrowed brows and craning of his neck, it seems that the acting Captain that he’s looking for isn’t here.

“Arrived not a while ago. Still at the back, Coach.” one of his teammates in the middle of tying their shoelaces answered and jerked their thumb towards the door trailing to the locker room.

“It'll have to wait later, then.” Shimura acknowledged, “By the way, about your little imaginary advertisement title during the PressCon. Just to remind you again, no place for your so-called Ken Sato Show in my team. So don't try me.” Shimura warned him while pointing his index finger on his chest.

Ken raises both of his hands defensively forcing laughter. “Okay, okay. Got it.”

Ken’s attention drifted to someone emerging straight to the team out of nowhere, wearing a dark tinted helmet and a motorcycle jacket.

“[L/N], about time.” Shimura turned his head to you in relief. In Ken’s point of view, it’s like your arrival meant the team was saved. Looks like even Shimura has his favorites. Too bad you’re going to be dethroned soon. “Did you forget your batting helmet so you wore a motorcycle helmet instead?” Shimura pointed out your outlandish attire.

You let out a muffled snicker under your helmet. You held the helmet with your hands to take it off. Ken waited to see the face of his newfound rival under the helmet, fully expecting a man, preparing to say something to assert dominance over you. His expectant smile dropped when after you removed your helmet and shook your head to free your hair, the moment your hair flowed and his eyes lay on your face, was also the moment he realized...

You were not a man.

The Captain of the Giants… is a woman?

What the f–

Well, he wasn’t trying to be sexist or anything. No, no, not at all. He knows a lot of strong women in his life and his mother would be just one of many. He acknowledges women are just as capable as men. It’s just, it’s been so long since he was last updated with the Giants even before he got in. First reason is because he really doesn’t care about the identities of his future teammates. And second, because he, what’s the term? Lost interest in them when he cut off everything associated with Japan, because it reminded him of his dad who traded him and his mother to the Ultraman gig. Gosh, how long has it been?

“Where did you come from?”

“Audience’s entrance. Your interviewers are camped in the corridor on the way to the locker rooms.” You tossed your helmet to the nearby bench.

My god, not even your height or the way your physique looked under your baggy jacket gave away the fact that you were a woman.

Ken, after a moment of being taken aback by your appearance, straightened himself subtly when you glanced at him for a few seconds. He’s not nervous, is he? Of course not. No one ever makes him, the Ken Sato nervous. He fought the urge to hit his own head with his palm. For god’s sake, Kenji, snap out of it.

“Who’s this?” Your tired eyes shift from him to Shimura. You don't know him? Once again, you did it. The fact that you didn’t know him added to the damage you did to his ego.

He observed you closely. You had a stern expression, sharp eyes, a prim, somewhat almost restrained appearing composure and a low, sultry voice. He does admit, your intimidating aura really does reflect that of a leader. Oddly attractive.

Yet not enough to distract him from his goal.

“Your new teammate, Ken Sato.” Shimura answered with his hand gesturing toward Ken. “Sato, this is our consecutive Captain, [Y/N L/N].” Shimura introduces you to him.

Shimura’s words echoed in Ken’s ear. “only the best players are chosen as the Captain”, You’re the best player of this team. You, in front of him, right now.

“Nice to meet you, Captain.” Ken forced a smile, trying to pull himself together.

Your eyes went back to him after, he can tell you’re sizing him up. It didn't take long before Ken got lost in his thoughts again. You had a sharp gaze, one that if it were possible to kill, he would be down lying on the floor. Your gaze almost even looks like a glare already.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when after moments of not moving, you walked towards his direction. He expectantly prepared himself mentally to converse with you, but he was beyond shocked when you walked past him.

What…

What?

Did that really just happen? It did. The proof was the trail of your scent you left walking past him. Your perfume smelled musky, yet also sweet. Not painful to the nose.

He’d lie if he said he wasn’t expecting you to interact with him, welcome him in your team or initiate anything, anything at all. But you just… didn’t care? Shouldn’t Team Captains, even acting ones greet new teammates? If he were the Captain he’d do it. Is this how they welcome teammates in Tokyo? He had never been this humbled in his whole life.

Shimura didn’t have any reaction, as if it was just what he had already expected from you. You sat at your team’s side of the bleachers to change your shoes and wear your face guard, not even looking back in their direction to even lay your eyes on him again. Ken still cannot believe what had just happened. He’s stupid for expecting, and you’re clearly not friendly, and it’s fine. He can take that.

On the bench, you stifled a yawn. If you yawn freely, Shimura would notice it with his hawk eyes and nag you asking why’d you tire yourself out before a game and of course you cannot disclose why. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed today because of the aftermath of your discreet job outside baseball. Neronga was a resistant one, you’d say. If Ultraman hadn’t meddled with your mission, you would’ve finished the job sooner and you would’ve had enough rest.

“Yo, Captain.” one of your teammates, Otomo, approached you.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You were the Captain last season, and surely you’ll still be in this one.”

You glared at him and diverted your attention to your shoelaces without replying.

“What’d you think about our new teammate?” Nothing but a show-off. “Heard a while ago Sato over there was also aiming for the same title.” Otomo gestured his head to Sato.

Your hands continued tying your laces. You’d like a healthy competition. Whatever he wants. You don’t care about the Captain title on its own, anyway. You only care about being Captain because it meant you were the best out of everyone in the team. While Sato was changing in the locker room, you stood up after you finished wearing and fixing your baseball gear.

You were fixing the soles of your shoes when your vision caught some of your teammates piling up while watching something on their mobile phones. Some of them seemed to be genuinely fanboying on Sato and some of them didn't like him. You? You're part of the latter, like these guys.

“[L/N], it’s Sato’s PressCon last night. Come watch with us. He claimed himself the greatest active player.” you overheard as they kept replaying that one part over and over and laughing. You were right. That Sato is conceited. And he’s not even subtle about it.

Greatest active player, huh. You’d like to see if he can walk his talk.

Before the game started, Shimura called you all to discuss the sequence. And you and Sato were accidentally placed beside each other.

“You lead.” Shimura points at your direction. You weren't sure who, because Sato was placed little more in front of you.

“Coach, do you mean, me?” You clarified.

“No, Sato.” he pointed at the new guy, Sato. “You’re first one up. Bat.”

Your narrow eyes focused on this Sato guy. You sized him up once again. Usual pretty boy, pretty face, but petty attitude. What’s special about him? First impressions, off. But, you do have to see how he plays first to judge him.

“He’s the best player in his former team. Let him lead.”

You wordlessly retreated and stepped back to give way to the players. You stared at his back containing his jersey number, Sato, number seven.

Meanwhile in front, Ken fights the urge to look at you. “Don’t worry guys, I’m about to change this team’s trajectory just tonight.” he confidently walked off with the same cocky smile.

Although it’s a bummer he won’t get the chance to watch you play first, he took the opportunity and stepped inside the court. He took his mind off of everything not inside the court. He has to focus. This is his time to prove himself.

You do want to be the best, but you don’t always expect to be the best. There’s a fine line that differs between those two. Although, yes, your father would be displeased if he finds out you’re anything but the best. But if he's always a show-off, then you already have that advantage over him. He isn’t a formidable competition at all.

The crowd screeched when his face went all over the jumbotron's LED screen. While in the point of view of the audience, it’s very noticeable how he seemed uncomfortable with his left shoulder. Looks like it isn’t just you who has a skill issue today. He still had the strength to bicker with the catcher from the other team, though. He’ll be fine.

The game began, the pitcher pitched. He missed. The second pitch, he missed again.

Your face crumpled. You made a point once again. He, in fact, can’t walk his talk. You crossed your arms and sank your back against the backrest of the bench. You’ve lost interest in the game.

Disappointing.

For the third time, the pitcher pitches, and for the last chance that he had, he hit the ball. Oh, lucky is he. The crowd goes wild, the commentator announces the successful bat and the giant screen shows his face. Even if he batted successfully on the third, it didn’t reverse the disappointment you felt now that you can judge him. He then came running the bases.

You looked away and rested your chin against your palm with crossed legs, not paying attention to the game, but all of a sudden, your eyes caught something familiarly strange flying outside the dome.

Is that…

You squinted to see clearly, and when you saw it again, your eyes widened. It vanished again for a while, but your sighting of KDF jets told you everything you needed to know to confirm what it was. You flinched in your seat when one of the KDF jets crashed and exploded near the dome, interrupting the game, also startling the people inside the dome who were now instinctively starting to evacuate the area. In the middle of the flames of the explosion, the creature emerged and showed itself clearly, just exactly as the one you suspected.

“Gigantron.” You and Ken mouthed at the same time, from different spots inside the dome.

The creature roars, frightening people even more. Everything was chaos, like that of a dystopia. People were pushing each other in the exits to get out of the dome as soon as possible. You stood up from your seat, picked your helmet up from the bottom bench, not turning your back on Gigantron, you pushed the door with your palm to the nearest exit. You pushed your way through the waves of people until you reached your motorcycle outside.

You revved the engine and sped up en route to the KDF headquarters. You need to get there before the last jet takes off.

—

In the dim-lit interior of the KDF Headquarters, Chief Officer Dr. Onda silently watches the monitor screen.

Aoshima, the KDF Captain hurriedly went to him after the difficult situation unfolded. “Sir, we have an emergency. Gigantron has ambushed our jets and taken it down. The package cannot be tracked, as of now.”

“Is Saturnine inside the headquarters right now?”

“Uh, Agent Saturnine is currently off-duty tonight, Sir.” Aoshima responded, wondering why out of everyone, he specifically asked about Saturnine.

Dr. Onda exhales and doesn't reply further. He maintained his stoned expression under his aviators. Once again, he focused on the monitor cameras showing the chaos the Gigantron made.

His forehead creases in distress. “Scramble all jets. Kill Gigantron. Do what you can to retrieve the package.” he orders his personnel.

“Yes, sir.”

***

incomp taglist (do comment if u wanna be added): @moonjellyfishie @aise-30 @lovingyeet @ririkacchi

#ken sato x you #kenji sato fluff #ken sato x y/n #ken sato x reader #ken sato #kenji sato #kenji sato brainrot #ultraman #ultraman rising #ultraman x reader #ken sato imagine #ken sato drabble #netflix #ultraman netflix #ken sato smut #smut #ken sato fluff #fluff

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morownic · 19 days

Text

you found your house, but where’s your home?

Japan was home to your childhood and the innocence you had lost a long time ago, and there was no way you would taint it with your deep, irremediable sorrow. You were never going back there. You were never going back home. (Have you ever had one?)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (graphic descriptions of drug use, overdose, and blood; non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns, non-graphic descriptions of a car accident, suicidal ideation

prev. // next — series masterlist · my other works · ao3

a/n: still written in the big spirit of oh no (tbh i was kinda convinced this song is practically gonna be the theme song for this series lmfao) + big influence of the breach + maps. this took a month to finish because i was in the trenches and my laptop broke lol thats why i didnt proofread and the ending is kinda ehh as well. i hope there are still people reading this though </3

Blues and purples washed over the crowd of college students as the party reached full swing. Music thumped in your chest as if it wanted to replace the beating of your heart, and drunken chatter rang in your ears as if they wanted to replace the voices in your head. Your eyes swept over the room, looking for a familiar face to ground yourself in the midst of your high. Some people greeted you as you made your way through the sea of bodies. Even though you failed to recognize most of them, you practically bounced as you greeted back and asked for their names and majors, complimenting them on their appearance and making small talk before moving on to the other person that had approached you. Mirth ran through your veins, so much so that it caused nausea to bubble in the depths of your stomach, as you kept moving from one conversation to another without so much as taking a breath and moving around with a twitch every now and then and a restlessness that slowly built up your exhaustion. When you finally saw Harley, your roommate, you gave the last person who spoke to you a jovial goodbye and a giddy side-hug before making your way toward her.

If you weren’t coked out of your mind, you would have immediately noticed the look on her face as she realized that you were not sober. Disappointment, concern, horror. You merely offered her the widest smile you could wear as you downed whatever the content of your cup was. The bitterness and burn of alcohol didn’t even make you flinch, and at that moment, you wondered if you should have heeded the sign that you gotta stop yourself now. Harley, on the other hand, looked at you as if you had just grown another head in front of her.

“Are you serious?”

Still, in your state, you couldn’t register her anger just yet. You were just confused as to what she was referring to as your smile slowly morphed into a frown. “What?”

“God, I thought you’ve been clean for–” Harley was momentarily interrupted by someone tapping on her shoulder, to which she responded with a rather aggressive ‘Give me a fucking minute!’ before she turned back to you. “You’re fucked. You’re really fucked.”

You were still puzzled, but your own indignation was starting to surface. “What the fuck’re you saying?”

The person behind Harley was saying something to her again, a sense of urgency evident in their speech and gesture, and you saw her gaze flickering between you and them. You caught her cursing under her breath before she said something you couldn’t hear to them and craned her head in your direction with a scowl on her face.

“I’ll be right back. Do not fucking do anything stupid, you hear me?!”

A glimpse of your roommate’s bleached hair was all you saw before she disappeared into the crowd. You couldn’t even process your interaction, let alone get another word in. The realization that you were alone, again, somehow sobered you up. Your eyes felt heavy as they swept over the room once more, hoping to find someone who could distract you from your approaching crash. Gone was the euphoria that ran through your veins and kept you moving. The bluish lighting lost its color and no longer cast a glow that made you feel at ease; its coolness only made you feel more despondent in the middle of the party. The steady pulse of the music somewhat replaced your slowing heartbeat, yet it was muffled in your ears, blending with the chatter around you that grated on your overstimulated nerves. Each breath and step you took as you aimlessly walked through the crowd were slower than the last. You had never experienced your high crashing down as quickly as this. You thought that maybe, just maybe, talking to someone else about some mundane things or the latest gossip would at least be better than going back to one of those bathrooms for a fix. But there was no one to drag you into their conversation, let alone drag you into some corner just to temporarily reprieve you from the weight of it all; everyone was lost in their own world, while you just wanted to run away from yours, to forget and forget and forget.

So you did what you had been doing for the past year to patch up that hole in your heart ever since your parents died.

The bathroom you slipped into was bathed in deep purple, with flickering fairy lights framing the mirror where you saw your own reflection. You almost broke down when you did, because you hated what you saw. To others, you looked fine, pretty even, what with how the silk dress fitted over your form, how the red of your lips and nails seemed to glow in the dark, how your hair still seemed effortlessly kept even though it was a bit disheveled. To you? You looked fucking horrible. If it weren’t for the dim lighting, everyone would have noticed the dark circles under your eyes that you had tried to hide with layers and layers of concealer and the hollow of your cheeks that you didn’t bother contouring. You were a couple pounds lighter than you had been a month ago. Your veins stood out like dark, winding rivers beneath your skin, and your metacarpals had bulged like tree roots protruding from the ground. You put your purse on the counter, sluggishly rummaging through its contents to find your stash. Pressure wrapped around your head like a rubber band as you fumbled with the items inside your purse, trying to control your breathing so that pressure wouldn’t snap. You pulled out a tiny, crumpled resealable bag filled with that godforsaken white powder.

(Couldn’t you have found another way to numb yourself?)

You carefully opened the bag and poured the amount that you thought could lift the crushing weight from your chest onto the counter. With an old credit card your father once gave you before he returned to Japan to run away from you and your mother again, you arranged a few neat lines that you couldn’t even count on one hand because of how distressed you were. Even if you had at least retained a bit of your rationale, you would only have given yourself a pat on the back for lining them nearly as straight as a ruler. You hastily ripped a piece of paper from the tiny notebook you carried with you, rolled it up, and placed it against your nostril.

One sharp inhale and your world burst back into color, it seemed.

No more of that suffocating burden in your chest. No more of that dull ache devouring your entire body. Only that abrupt, exhilarating thrill returning to your bloodstream. Your body tensed for a split second, with your gasp for air making you sound like you had been strangled by death himself just moments ago. (But even death would have been kinder to you than you did to yourself.) At least, this way, your world felt warmer. Not the cold, barren land that you never bothered to nurture, even more so after your parents had passed. Their faces coming to the forefront of your mind made you snort another line, and you were taken back to your childhood home in the Tokyo suburbs; home where your dad played baseball and watched recordings of the Giants’ games with you, where your mom pulled you in for a side-hug as she plated the tonkatsu she cooked for dinner, where you ran around in your backyard either playing with bubbles bought from the local festival or a kite your dad had made for you. Those memories hurt you enough to make you take another bump.

Peace was not something you could afford—not when the line you took, crossed, only made you remember his face. You held back a sob as you took yet another bump. He was just that doe-eyed boy in high school; the boy who laughed in earnest after you parroted some stupid middle school joke you heard from one of your old classmates, the boy who scored a home run that you cheered for so loudly you could barely speak the next day, the boy who made you feel vulnerable for the first time when you kneeled for someone else as if he was God and he later kissed you as if you were an angel, as if all those Sundays you spent at church with your mother were all in vain because he was the original sin that you could not rid yourself of. One line taken, crossed, for every thought of him. One line taken, crossed, for every image of him in your head. The euphoria and heartache enveloping your chest did little to tear you from your frenzy, and only when they turned into a weight heavier than the one you were trying to cast aside did it finally hit you.

“Oh, fuck.”

The devil was staring back at you in the mirror. Your hands felt clammy as they gripped the counter so hard that your knuckles turned white. Your heart beat violently against your ribcage that you were sure it was about to break. You found that it was getting harder to breathe with each sharp inhale that burned your nostrils. Instead of running away, it was as if you were being chased. As if God had enough of your bullshit and told you ‘Don’t you fucking run away’ as the room closed in around you. Everything blurred, darkened, as you grew numb and heavy. Your grip on the counter loosened before your hands finally fell on your sides. Gone was the euphoria that made your world feel at least a little worthwhile, replaced by the realization that something very wrong was going on with you. You swayed and lost your balance in one movement—damn your high-heeled feet, damn the black hole in your heart, damn all the gods and angels that ever existed that never heard your prayers—then you fell onto your knees, knocking your head on the edge of the counter. The only warmth you felt then was the blood trickling down your forehead as you collapsed sideways onto the floor.

Several minutes passed as you teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. During those minutes, you recalled not being able to breathe properly, if at all, as you instinctively yet weakly willed yourself to at least lie down on your side. The noise that escaped the back of your throat was barely audible, and it was something akin to someone being choked to death. You thought that that was what was actually happening, that it was for real this time. Everything was muffled, but you could make out a loud bang against the wall and a figure rushing to your side and shaking your body a little too violently for your liking in your half-conscious state. Warmer light bathed the room once the overhead light was turned on, and you heard what you could only recognize as the voices of people panicking and yelling at each other.

God granted you one last moment of clarity, in which you saw Ken’s face, stricken with horror, before you let yourself fall deeper into oblivion.

Ken Sato got benched for the first time.

Not only did the Giants lose their second match against the Swallows, Ken was also very nearly suspended for the bench-clearing brawl that he had supposedly started. In his first game against the Swallows, the umpire had intervened in the quarrel between Ken and the opposing catcher, and he managed to hit a home run that boosted the team’s morale. But then he just had to meet her during that stupid celebration; their encounter had left him distraught for literal fucking days. Before he knew it, the sun had already risen on his game day. He had to drink two cups of coffee just to kickstart his body into motion. While he could keep that goddamn catcher’s brickbats in the first match, Ken could barely keep himself together when the catcher provoked him in the second match—he tried, really, to hold the lingering effects of the few cans of beer he had the other night, to perform well despite his lack of sleep and barely healed shoulder, to empty his mind from the thoughts of her while he was on the field. He remembered slapping the catcher’s mask off his face and the impact of a clenched fist against his left cheekbone. Everything that happened afterward was a blur to him, other than the fact that Coach Shimura benched and reprimanded him and that he went past the speed limit when he rode his bike back home after the game. That night, the ice bath he had sunk himself into did little to calm his nerves.

The bruises on Ken’s face ceased to swell just two days before his next game. When he found that he could fit his helmet comfortably again without having to deal with how sore the left side of his face was, he cruised across the Rainbow Bridge and relished the rush he felt as he swerved past the traffic in Minato, the hum of his bike engine reverberating through his body. For a moment, the sight of the Tokyo Tower in the distance distracted him from his reality. He thought of Shibuya as the destination of his night ride, but then he recalled his encounter with her at that one nightclub and frustration bubbled up in his chest once again like heartburn. So he simply cruised through the streets of Roppongi, aimlessly taking turns until he arrived at an intersection and narrowly missed a car running a red light from his right.

“Hey–!”

“Ken, are you alright?”

The sound of metal clashing and glass shattering just a few feet ahead of him made Ken instinctively swerve away from the crash. He could barely register what was happening as he brought his bike to a stop near the sidewalk. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his heartbeat pulsed in his ears and pounded in his chest. With labored breaths and trembling hands, Ken took off his helmet and turned to look at the scene. His eyes widened in shock as he processed the sight of two cars crumpled against each other at the intersection, smoke billowing up from one of the cars’ hoods and the ring of their alarms echoing through the street.

A loud wail that shrilled through his ears pulled him out of his trance. If the scene hadn’t already distressed him, then the sight of a child that some of the pedestrians pulled out from the passenger seat of the impacted car was downright heartbreaking. She was no more than five years old, her pristine white dress stained with blood—Ken wasn’t sure if it was the child’s or someone else’s. He could only imagine what she had seen in the driver’s seat for her to keep trying to get back into the car and shrieking at the top of her lungs. But when they pulled out the driver from the car, he understood.

Ken felt as if his heart had been ripped out from his chest when he saw a face so familiar being laid down on the sidewalk across from him. He was sure he strained his vocal chords when he called out her name so loud it might have rivaled the child’s earsplitting cries.

He had seen this before. He had felt this before—sometime in college, at some godforsaken frat party that made him absolutely abhor parties. (Even if they were some of the only things that helped him cope with the loneliness he felt after she left.) He remembered seeing her lying on the bathroom floor, motionless; there were trails of white on her nostrils, drool and lipstick smudged on the corners of her mouth, blood trickling down from her forehead to the stained white linoleum. But now, instead of slowly kneeling beside her, he ran as fast as he could to the other side of the road and practically shoved away the people that were between him and her. There was no way she was dying right in front of him again. He refused to believe it, at least until he reached out to hold her and realized that she was as pale as she had been that night. His breath labored and his hands—no, his whole body trembled as he frantically glanced over at her closed eyes, the trickling crimson on her face, the slowly drying red on the white of her shirt. Time didn’t slow down this time; it felt as if everything in the world, his world, had completely stilled when he brushed her hair out of her face. Her. It was her. It was just like that night.

This was real. This wasn’t a fever dream.

This was fucking real.

Ken had met you again in the middle of freshman year in college. The two of you reconnected, albeit with a sense of detachment that often made his skin crawl. The jock he had seen you with was actually your boyfriend of a month—one you had supposedly dumped just two days after Ken had met you again. A few days after your breakup, Ken saw you hunched over on a bench in front of the convenience store near his dorm. Your face was hidden under the hood of your jacket while you ate cup noodles and drank a can of beer; he noticed how the bags under your eyes had become more prominent and how your lips were a little more chapped compared to when you were in high school. He bought a can of beer of his own before awkwardly sitting next to you, asking about your life, and you lit up a cigarette, apologizing for cutting him off after graduation. He didn’t know which he hated more: the fact that he could forgive you in the blink of an eye or how easy it was to fall back into the dynamic you used to have—playful banter, laughter that shook your bodies, and longing stares that neither of you spoke about. His heart fluttered when you held out your little finger, and he hooked it with his own.

“Friends forever, bro.”

You were glad you didn’t fall back into some of your old habits—the ones that involved either him under you or you under him. (He was your old habit.) You reconnected with his mother, too, but you never visited again, because you feared the comfort of his home would remind you too much of the past and how your home could never be as warm as his. For a while, it truly felt like you were just friends without all the skeletons in your closets. You would spend some of your weekday nights studying with Ken at the library before riding your bikes across town to that old diner you used to frequent with your mother before she stopped coming home early and he took her place. Other nights, you would roll up some joints with Harley in your dorm room while talking about whatever was on your mind; yet whenever she asked you about Ken, he almost always arrived in front of your door as if on cue, and you never got to tell her that you could never love anyone the way you loved him. (You had a feeling she knew.) The evenings you cherished the most, however, were the ones you spent hanging out at the park with the two of them, smoking pot while doing your assignments and watching the sunset together.

Freshman year ended with a core memory of you pushing Ken into the lake before he pulled you in with him. Harley laughed until she couldn’t breathe, one hand holding a half-smoked joint and the other recording the two of you with her phone.

Three months into sophomore year, your father came for a month-long visit as he usually did every year, and you didn’t return home on the weekends as you usually did whenever he came. When you were still in high school, you would have to either stay and listen to their screaming matches, both the hostile and obscene, or lie to your parents that you had some group work or extracurricular project so you could go to one of those awful house parties; fuck one of the guys you met at said party—that was, if Ken wasn’t there, because you would definitely pull him to the nearest empty room for a quickie if he was there; and sleep over at one of your friends’ houses, talking about anything and everything except you would stay quiet when they told stories of their fathers showing up at their rehearsals and their mothers baking homemade cakes for their birthdays. You never told anyone what was happening. Not even Ken, let alone his mother. You were just happy to be out of that house. Now that you were in college, your reasons were at least closer to the truth. Assignments. Group projects. Final exams. Student Council stuff. Preparations for career exhibitions and campus festivals. Debate practice for another state championship—you won three titles throughout college, yet your father would only acknowledge with an almost disinterested hum whenever you told him. (You didn’t play softball competitively anymore. Your parents made you drop the sport.)

You hated how you fell back into your old habits whenever your father visited—you hadn’t indulged in them last year since he didn’t visit, and you quietly thanked God because there was no way you were going to spend your most vulnerable moments with that insufferable jock. This time, though, you found yourself smoking at least a pack of cigarettes a day and looking for someone to kneel for.

Of course, you didn’t even let yourself think of pulling Ken down with you. As much as you would rather have him, you cared for him enough to not put him through what you had put him through in high school. But Ken knew you. Perhaps it was his fear of losing you again. Perhaps it was out of his own selfishness to keep you all to himself even if you weren’t his. He was the one who fell back into old habits for you. Whenever you called him to ask where he was on the weekends, he would drop whatever he was doing at that moment and come to you. Sometimes, the two of you would go on a night ride—on his bike because he didn’t trust you to drive, given your state of mind—and he would fuck you in the dark alleyway next to that old diner after eating two large burger meals together. At times like this, you didn’t even need to smoke or drink afterward because you would find yourself drunk merely from the pleasure and adrenaline rush. Other times, when his roommate got the hint and made himself scarce, Ken would take you on his bed, and you wouldn’t have any other choice but to be as quiet as possible. Then, even if you were the one who fell asleep in his room, he would always be the one leaving before you woke up in the morning, and you would never wait until he returned.

One day, while you were watching the sunset with Ken and your roommate, you received a call informing you that your parents had been in a car accident and were killed on impact. This wasn’t the first time you broke down. But it was the first time Ken had ever seen you collapse in on yourself like a planet turning into a black hole.

“They’ll be buried in Japan,” you uttered flatly. “I called my uncle. He said he will be picking them up next week, but he won’t be staying long.”

Ken frowned. “Are you going–”

“No.”

If you had to suffer, you wanted to suffer here, where all the worst memories of your family resided. (Even if it meant staining the happiest days of your life with him.) Japan was home to your childhood and the innocence you had lost a long time ago, and there was no way you would taint it with your deep, irremediable sorrow. You were never going back there. You were never going back home.

(Have you ever had one?)

Ken tried to be there when you mourned. But you had shut him and even Harley out after your uncle picked up your parents’ ashes. You spent three days glued to your bed, only getting up to eat something and brush your teeth when your roommate practically dragged you to. Ken would bring the food his mother made, even bringing her to the dorms at some point, but you would only eat five spoonfuls at most and leave the rest for your roommate. You couldn’t look his mother in the eye, even after she pulled you into her embrace, and you let her leave without so much as saying goodbye. The one time you broke down again, Harley called Ken for help because you told her you just couldn’t even will yourself to get up. When he saw you curled up on your unmade bed, reeking as if you hadn’t showered for more than a couple days, he thought that you were the only person that could break his heart in a million different ways. He remembered carrying you to his mother’s car and making you stay at his place until you feel better. He remembered slowly feeding you the gruel his mother made for you as you limply leaned against his side on his bed. He remembered washing you in the tub when his mother wasn’t home, scrubbing your back as your tears fell into the bathwater and your cries echoed in the bathroom.

His mother only reluctantly let you go back to your dorm a week later. By then, you already felt a little more like yourself, yet Ken still insisted on helping you. He would bring his mother’s food for you and walk you to your classes whenever he could, even if his classes were on the other side of the campus. He would buy some things you offhandedly said you needed to stock in your dorm and wait for you to finish showering, standing idly outside the communal showers area, no matter how much time you took. He would soothe you in ways he only knew how—with hushed praises, hands entangled with yours, kissing away the tears that fell either out of pleasure or grief—and left a glass of water, something to eat, and morning-after pills for when you woke up. To him, this was how he could love you without loving you. To you, this was a reminder that you would never be deserving of his warmth.

Two months passed. Everything seemed to return to normal—as normal as it could be, Ken thought, because there was something off about you after you spent your winter break in Japan. Upon your return, you started coming to those frat parties again, but you would come back more skittish each time. Perhaps you were just drinking, Harley said, but that was enough reason for Ken to start coming to the same parties you were invited to. He noticed how color had slowly faded from your cheeks as they hollowed bit by bit; how the dark circles around your eyes became more noticeable, even with all the makeup you wore; how you grew thinner every month, eating only once a day, becoming frail underneath your rapture. He should have known that the way you casually wiped off your nosebleed while smoking at the park was a dead giveaway; yet, somehow, realization only dawned on him when you rejected his warmth for the first time in the years that you had burned him in yours. Brokenhearted was an understatement. He lost you again—not to the bittersweetness of unspoken love, but to the malignity of worldly subservience.

One of his biggest, if not the biggest, regrets in life was not stopping you right then and there.

Summer break—everyone and their mothers held a party. Ken remembered that night awfully well that it became the stuff of his nightmares. He spent half the night looking for you; he didn’t even need to talk to you, he just needed to know you were there. Some of his friends noticed how distracted he was, and when they brought it up, he waved them off, saying he had just seen a familiar face before joining their conversation. He hoped they didn’t notice how bitter his laugh sounded when they teasingly asked if he was looking for you. Usually, it wouldn’t be this hard to find you. Whenever there was a party, you would be at the center of it. Your enthusiasm whenever you came to one of these frat parties contrasted with your more mellowed out self in those dimly lit house parties in high school. Yet, as the clock neared two in the morning and he still couldn’t find you, he reminded himself of how there had been something off about your high spirits.

“Ken?”

Upon hearing a familiar voice, Ken blinked rapidly and realized that he had been in a stupor. Instead of one of his friends, it was Harley who had called out his name, and he was surprised to see her there. He noticed that she hadn’t been coming to the same parties anymore and remembered you mentioning it was probably because she finally had a girlfriend. He brushed off the thought when he saw concern etched on her face, but before he could even open his mouth to ask, she beat him to it.

“Have you seen her?”

“No…?” Ken frowned. “No, why?”

Harley clicked her tongue. “I swear, she’s–” She took a sharp inhale of breath before continuing. “Can you help me find her?”

“Well, yeah, but–” Ken’s frown deepened when he took notice of how Harley kept looking around the room restlessly. “Is something going on with her?”

“Yes!” She snapped, and judging by the look on her face afterward, she probably didn’t mean to. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips before she continued. “Yes, and you gotta help me find her before she does anything stupid.”

“Okay, okay,” Ken said, raising both hands, gesturing to Harley to calm down. It did little to pacify her, as she continued to look around the room restlessly. He subconsciously followed gaze as he asked, “Where was she the last time you saw her?”

“She was right here, I swear–” Harley cut herself off when she recognized someone in the crowd before repeatedly tapping on their shoulder. “Hey, did you see a girl in a black dress here before?”

She uttered your name afterward, and the person’s face lit up in recognition. “Oh, her?” They turned slightly, extending a forefinger to point in a direction. “Yeah, I think I saw her going into the bathroom over there.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Ken was pretty sure he bolted toward the bathroom at record speed without so much as saying ‘thank you’ to the person who gave him and Harley the heads-up. They must have looked like madmen shoving people aside left and right, and had he not had a literal life-or-death situation at hand, he would have gotten himself into a fight with how hard he shoved some people and how indifferent he was in the face of their indignation. When they finally arrived in front of the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, and the sight of a pool of black on the floor made his breath hitch.

“Oh, no.”

He swung the door open so hard that it hit the wall with a loud bang, stunning the crowd near the bathroom. Harley immediately dropped onto her knees next to you with a loud thud. “Oh, no, no, no, no–hey, hey, wake up!”

Everything that happened afterward was a blur to him. Your roommate yelled and gestured wildly at Ken to turn on the lamp, which he did after barely registering her words. He froze when he saw you lying on the floor, motionless, pale as a ghost that he thought you might as well have turned into one. Time slowed down as more people flooded the scene, yelling and screaming at each other in panic, and everything was just too much. He tuned them out as he slowly kneeled and reached out to brush your hair out of your face, the blood from your forehead staining the tips of his fingers. His disbelief turned into a sickening realization that made the contents of his stomach rise up his throat. It was you. It was really you.

Ken couldn’t think straight as he lifted you in his arms and carried you out of the bathroom before Harley could even get another word in. How could he? The blood on his fingers felt warm, yet you were as cold as a fucking corpse. He could barely feel the rise and fall of your shoulders as you breathed. All of his rage and heartache, including the resentment he had for you, fueled him as he yelled at people to get the fuck out of the way! and carelessly shoved anyone who didn’t. When he finally got outside, he realized you didn’t even feel warm against the chill of the midnight wind. Fortunately, the ambulance arrived just as he was about to run and carry you to the nearest hospital himself. The paramedics tried to stop him from getting in the ambulance, only relenting when he almost punched one of them. He didn’t remember getting to the hospital or how he ended up spending the night at your bedside—just the overwhelming fear that he could have lost you for good.

That night, it was his first time smoking a cigarette out of his own will.

“You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“You don’t fucking get it.”

“I don’t need to fucking get it when I can see that you’re fucking up yourself!”

You couldn’t even reply to that.

“Did you even know how scared I was? How scared Ken was? God, I don’t care if you’re a total bitch, just don’t do this shit to yourself!”

“I had it under control–”

“Under control? You fucking overdosed. That’s not under control, that’s out of fucking control!”

This time, you snapped. “Well, yelling at me isn’t going to fucking fix anything!”

Ken stood outside your hospital room, leaning against the wall next to the door. He sighed as soon as the screaming match started. This wasn’t the first time you and Harley fought with raised voices and unrestrained spite since she found out about your addiction, straining both your throats and friendship after each fight. Still, neither of you had ever escalated things, so he simply listened from where he stood, a heavy weight resting on his chest as the two of you exchanged words he knew you would regret down the line. Her last words to you, however, would probably haunt you for the rest of your life.

“You know what? If you don’t want me to stop you from killing yourself, fine. Go kill yourself if you want.”

Even Ken staggered upon hearing the words that left her lips.

“Harley–!” He heard you call for your roommate, whose heels clicked on the floor and echoed closer to the door. As she opened the door, he heard you yell, “Fuck you!”

He gave a sideways glance toward Harley as she got out of the room. She visibly jumped when she noticed his presence but quickly composed herself and closed the door behind her. A deep, exasperated sigh left her lips as she hung her head. “Sorry.”

He waved off her apology in reassurance. “You okay?”

A shake of her head, then silence. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awkward either—it was the first time he wordlessly understood Harley when she looked up at him tiredly because ‘Why won’t you let anyone help you?’ and he could only slacken his frown because ‘I want to know why, too.’ She glanced at the floor beneath her heels, pondering for a few moments before finally speaking her mind.

“Can you look after her?”

To that, he offered her a small, sad smile.

“Yeah, I will.”

That was the last time Ken—and you—ever saw Harley. She moved off-campus, blocked your number and all your social media accounts, and never even spared you so much as a glance whenever you passed by. You also didn’t bother to approach her, guilt gnawing at you like maggots eating rotten flesh. By the time you started your senior year, you never saw her on campus. Ken was the only witness to your absolution.

(You wondered if he was God himself, with how forgiving he was.)

Four months into junior year, you finally came back to your house. One of your aunts was kind enough to help organize your mother’s belongings after the funeral and pay for cleaning services throughout the year your house was empty. You found yourself standing in the middle of the living room, hollow. You hadn’t been here for a year. Everything stayed the same. Everything—except your mother’s heels were no longer displayed on the shoe rack in the foyer, her favorite episode of Love Island wasn’t playing on the widescreen TV you could see from upstairs, and her liquor cabinet was void of her favorite bottles of Pinot noir. Everything, except your mother’s nonchalant ‘Welcome back, how was school?’ didn’t greet you when you came in, her dulcet voice no longer spoke of your achievements as she introduced you to your new neighbors, and her drunken laughter wasn’t echoing in the living room as she offered another drink to yet another younger man whose face you didn’t bother to remember. Everything stayed the same. Everything except you.

You would have grabbed a kitchen knife and killed yourself if the doorbell hadn’t rung.

Disoriented from your own thoughts, you willed yourself to stagger toward the door and open it. Ken stood there, one hand running through his unruly hair and the other holding his helmet. His eyes softened as he studied your features, while you offered him a confused look.

“Why are you here?”

He shrugged. “So you won’t be alone.”

There must be some divine punishment for how you had molded him into this—a young man who only wanted the slightest bit of love you could give, but you never did. You wanted to reach out, feel his warmth in your arms, and say ‘Thank you for never leaving me alone.’ You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs and strain your throat and your neck muscles, either saying ‘I can do this myself’ or ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ You wanted to look him in the eye and say ‘I love you,’ with every word echoing throughout the world to let him know that he was your world. But you settled with an apprehensive stare that you didn’t know he could look through.

“I’m fine–”

“No, you’re not,” he said with a firmness you hadn’t expected. He saw how you were taken aback and let his jaw unclench, his gaze soften, his voice lower. “We promised, right?”

Then he held out his little finger and you were sixteen again, breaking each other’s hearts for the first time.

“Friends forever.”

Ken looked at you with your father’s long-lost fondness and your mother’s forgotten tenderness. You wanted to hook your little finger around his and offer him the slightest hint of a smile you could muster, so you did. You wanted to take a deep breath, press your head against his chest, and hear—feel—his heartbeat, so you did. He held you closer, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo in your hair, his free hand soothingly rubbing your back. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his torso as you pressed yourself closer to him, relishing in his warmth while burning him in yours once again.

(You didn’t tell him the way he said it sounded more like a proposal than a promise.)

“You don’t have to stay.” But I want you to.

He let out a contemplative hum that reverberated through both his body and yours. You found the slight vibration comforting.

“But I want to.” You don’t even have to ask me.

That day, you started packing up with his help. You showed him the albums of your childhood, told him the stories behind each photograph, and spoke fondly of your father for the first time in years. The next day, he checked and washed your bike and your mother’s car—which you sold later on in the afternoon, helped you pack all the medals and trophies you had won since middle school, and dragged you outside to mess around with the sprinkler system one last time. On the last day, he carried all the boxes and stacked them downstairs so the movers could easily move them, you cooked your mother’s mac and cheese recipe and he held you as you cried while eating, and the two of you took out your old star projector and turned it on in the living room, where both of you talked yourselves to sleep. Those three days were the first time in years that your touches didn’t lead to anything more.

You moved out to a studio apartment near downtown, sent the rest of your mother’s belongings back to her family in Japan, and rented a storage space for the things you couldn’t fit in your apartment. Ken would come over almost every day and sleep over every weekend, spending your shared free time playing video games, catch ball, or poker. (Strip poker, sometimes.) Two months later, he practically moved in, what with how many of his clothes were in your wardrobe and how his toothbrush was always next to yours in the bathroom. Six months later, the two of you practically became parents to a stray tabby cat named Mochi, whose favorite thing to do was to nap nearly all day and only seemed to stay awake when you and Ken decided to shove your tongues in each other’s mouths and your hands in each other’s pants.

A year later, you gave him your sobriety coin.

The harsh overhead fluorescent lights glared at him as he stared down the empty forms laid down on the reception desk in front of him. Instead of filling them out, his mind wandered to his bloodstained jacket, now sealed in a bag somewhere in the hospital. One of the nurses had said something about preventing contamination, but he could barely register her words with how the faint smell of iron still lingered in his nose even after he washed off the blood from his hands. His eyes then flickered to them; the red of your blood now replaced by the redness of his own skin after he had vigorously scrubbed it off, leaving small scratches on his palms. Then his mind wandered to you. You and the crimson painting your face. You and the white staining your nose. You, smiling whenever you saw his face in the crowd. You, laughing at every one of his stupid jokes. You, lying down on the bathroom floor with dazed eyes looking straight at him and an unspoken apology he could hear over the music before you passed out. You, lying down on the sidewalk with the same look in your eyes and a fear he couldn’t quite place before you went limp and closed your eyes as he tried to stop the blood flowing from your torso.

(His bike wobbled when he caught a glimpse of his bloodstained hands while speeding off to the hospital.)

A dull ache returned to his bruised cheekbone, pulling him out of his train of thought, and he hissed at the slight pricking he felt when he brought up his hand to touch it. The papers in front of him captured his attention once again. He forced his brain to work as he deciphered the rows of kanji written on them. It was easy, at first. Your name. Birthday. Blood type. Medical history. He thought it wasn’t his place to disclose your old habits. (Even if he was one of them.) But then he realized he didn’t even know how to properly spell your smoking and addiction history in Japanese, and his frown deepened when he read the address, emergency contact, and insurance details columns.

“Wait, uh,” he said, flipping through the papers, his eyes darting between the columns before he handed one of the forms to the nurse behind the desk. “I don’t know if I could fill some of these.”

“Oh,” the nurse exclaimed softly, glancing over the paper in her hand. “Do you know anyone we could contact on her behalf? Her relatives, perhaps?”

Ken couldn’t come up with an answer. Your parents and his mother had already passed. He knew nothing about your extended family, and from the way you spoke or avoided speaking about them, he figured that you wouldn’t want him to call them even if you were on your deathbed. He did think of his father and the possibility that you had met him after you came to Japan, but the resentment that simmered in his chest made him tighten his grip around the pen in his hand as he shook off the thought. He wasn’t going to call his father. He would never.

“Uh, no,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re not on good terms,” he continued. “I don’t have their contacts, and I don’t know if they’d even come if you called.”

“I see,” the nurse said, nodding as she handed back the paper in her hand to him. “Then please just fill out these forms as best as you can, sir. If you need any help, please let me know.”

He nodded and muttered a ‘thank you’ before making quick work of filling out the forms, writing down what he knew about you. On the other hand, he left your daughter’s forms mostly, if not completely, empty. Your daughter. A flash of indignation burned for a moment in his chest before disappearing just as quickly as it came. No older than five years old, he recalled. He wondered if you had her after you left Los Angeles. He wondered if you had called him to meet at that old diner to tell him. He wondered if, had he not been drunk and you actually told him, there would at least be a reason for him to be a part of your world—your daughter. His daughter. Ken swore his heart tightened, threatening to shrivel, at the thought of you raising a child alone in a country where you didn’t have anyone else.

(What if you were alone all this time?)

“Would you like to see your daughter? She’s asleep right now, but she should be waking up anytime soon.”

Ken barely registered the nurse’s words, but when he did, they almost gave him whiplash as he snapped his head to look at her. “Huh?”

The nurse herself seemed to have asked him the question without properly looking at him, thus not seeing the bewildered look on his face, preoccupied with whatever was on her desk. “Would you like to see–” She cut herself off when she finally looked up at him, her own expression slowly turning into one of mortification. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I assumed–”

His hand waved off her rushed apology, reassuring her that he didn’t take offense to the question. “Yeah, yeah, no, i-it’s alright,” he stuttered. “She’s–she’s not my daughter, but…” His words trailed off to give way to a momentary silence before he asked, “Can I see her?”

With an understanding nod and another apology, the nurse led Ken to the pediatric ward and into one of the rooms. An older nurse was already there, sitting by the bedside with a clipboard in her hands. She gave him a small smile as she got up from her seat to move to the corner of the room, muttering a ‘Please don’t mind me’ as she sat down. Perhaps she was just taking precautions, considering that he wasn’t listed as an immediate family member. He thanked her, turning his attention to the child sleeping on the bed, breath hitching when he realized something.

She looked so much like you. A carbon copy of you—the you he had seen in a photograph your father took on your fourth birthday, dressed in a pretty pink dress and a blue paper hat as you posed with the candled cake, a Duchenne smile on your face. (You said it was the happiest day of your life because it was the only time you remembered your father’s warmth.) The you he had seen in another picture in your childhood album, where you sat on your mother’s lap, laughing and playing the piano together. (You told him your mother stopped playing when you got into high school.) The you he had seen in a Polaroid shot your mother took when you were fifteen, a rare moment amidst your spiraling home life, where you were curled up on the couch, fast asleep in your party outfit with your old teddy bear in your arms. (You gave him that photograph; he kept it in his wallet to this day.)

Ken’s eyes widened, and he sat up straighter in his seat when her eyes slowly opened, revealing a pair of gray orbs strikingly similar to his own. Fear and confusion were etched on her face, but they melted away when her eyes gleamed with recognition upon seeing him—and all he saw was the 6-year-old boy who had just moved to Los Angeles and didn’t speak a word of English.

“Mr. Nana?”

“Huh?”

Her weak, slightly hoarse voice must have alerted the nurse in the corner of the room, because she was right by their side within seconds. The nurse asked her how she was feeling and checked her vitals, her own voice low and gentle so as to not scare her patient. Both the nurse and your daughter kept glancing at him every now and then, and after she fully regained consciousness, her eyes never left Ken’s.

“She keeps calling you ‘Mr. Nana,’” the nurse chuckled softly. “I think she’s referring to your jersey number, Mr. Sato.”

A small smile made its way onto Ken’s face. “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Would you like to talk to him, sweetheart?”

Your daughter nodded bashfully, and the nurse helped her sit on the bed. He took it as a cue to move closer, gently dragging his chair to avoid the shrill sound of its metal legs against the floor. He let his shoulder slump a little so he could look at her at her eye level, though her gaze nervously flickered between him and the nurse standing by the other side of the bed.

“Hi,” Ken asked softly and awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

She blinked at him a couple times. “Emi.”

Emi. Emiko. His mother’s name.

“Emi?” He croaked out, and she nodded. A moment of silence passed between them before he took a deep breath and let his smile return to his face. “That’s a pretty name.”

“...Thank you,” Emi said shyly, glancing up at him before looking back at her fidgeting thumbs. “Mama said I’m named after someone pretty.”

(You really were the only person who could break his heart in a million different ways.)

He let out an amused snort. “Is that so?”

She nodded again; the next time she opened her mouth to speak, her surfacing excitement reminded him of whenever you talked about the topics you learned at debate practice or the things you just couldn’t discuss with anyone else but him.

“Mama also said that you’re the best baseball player in the world. Is that true?”

The greatest living player, you once said. “Yeah,” he chuckled softly. “Yeah, that’s right.”

If he hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have thought that Emi had just been in a car crash a few hours ago. The little girl nearly bounced with how giddy she was, eyes widening and lips parting in wonder. His own smile widened at the sight and when he asked, “Do you like baseball too?”

“Yes!” Emi answered enthusiastically. “Mama showed me that- that when you play, you can hit the ball reeeally far!”

Ken let out a chuckle, warmth spreading in his chest when the thought of you singing his praises crossed his mind. “I can show you how to hit the ball really far too,” he said, trailing off to ponder on something before continuing. “When you get better, I’ll show you. How’s that sound?”

The proposition made Emi turn to look at the older nurse, seemingly for reassurance, and she simply nodded in Ken’s direction in response. Emi’s eyes gleamed in delight, a small smile on her face, and he couldn’t help but notice just how much she resembled you when she nodded bashfully.

(Maybe, just maybe, you’re finally home.)

taglist: @mochminnie

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mo0nfairy · 3 months

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ STREETS !

summary :: over 20 years of kenji’s life has been spent preserving the surviving scraps of innocence from his childhood. since then, he has been desperately searching for anything to fill the rotten void in his chest. when a news reporter gives him everything he could ever ask for by merely existing, kenji fears the man he may become without them near.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!kenji, obsessive!kenji, g/n reader, blood/violence, alcohol, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, nausea/sickness, mentions of sex, use of ‘daddy’ honorific (but nothing sexually explicit occurs).

kenji sato's yandere traits are . . .

nurturing, heroic, & smothering

──── Over the course of his childhood, Kenji possessed the same desires every child had. The same wishes he’d whisper to planes he mistook for shooting stars.

He remembers climbing the blunt limbs of the oak tree in his backyard, pretending to be a hawk and searching the grass for any delicious rodents to sink his claws into. He can still feel the dirt under his fingernails when he’d get lost in the woods, pretending to be a tiger and barring his teeth to any predators after his kin. His only worries would consist of his next meal and where he'll settle in for the night, instead of the loneliness that resided back home.

However, as all stories go, Kenji grew up. As the years passed, though, the more constricting his grip became on this childhood dream. For every candle Kenji blew out, he only wished to be one with the great outdoors and rid himself of the expectations shoved upon him. As any child innocently wanted.

Now in adulthood, every candlelight snuffed out was a silent plea for peace. And so desperately, he is trying to protect the bird nest he intricately crafted. Woven with strands of his young, raven-black hair, chunks of sidewalk chalk, tufts of fur of his favorite stuffed animals — every forgotten, sacred piece of his childhood that still remains unscathed.

Year after year, the relentless abuse of the world and his responsibilities reign down on him, prying their violent, eager fingers into his beloved bird nest. Today, Kenji holds whatever scraps still remain close to his chest, nestling them beneath a canopy of creativity and everlasting hope. Protecting whatever bits of innocence and childlike luster that survive the weight of the world.

When he pictured his father’s role of Ultraman as a child, he imagined perseverance and bravery. Now with that title bequeathed to him, Kenji is anything but. He is clumsy, reckless, and negligent. The very last thing he wishes to do now is follow his father’s footsteps, but alas, he has been given no choice.

The Neronga waltzes through the city streets, exuding chaos with every step it strides. Tossing around chunks of buildings and fistfuls of debris. And begrudgingly, Kenji trails after it like a parent trying to tame their exuberant child.

A booming roar echoes from the beast's throat, angry bolts of electricity sparking from its horn. One swift punch to its jaw and the creature is out cold, leaving miles of destruction and disorder in its demise. With the threat neutralized, now comes the clean-up. He plucks citizens like they are tiny dolls and drops them to safety, who all thank him profusely for his aid. All except one.

Several bystanders crowd over a pile of rubble, waving their hands in an attempt at garnering the attention of Ultraman.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I’m coming…” Kenji mutters, stepping over passing cars as though they’re scatterings of colorful legos.

Piece by piece, he brushes past the lumps of bricks and metal. Disinterred from beneath the rubble is you. Hauntingly beautiful in your unconscious state.

“Oh…” He exhales breathlessly, chest rising and falling with rapid pants.

And there it is.

That canopy of creativity enveloping him; that bird nest suddenly overflowing with rebirth and life. Everything bursts in colors so prismatic, Kenji finds himself at an impossible balance between feeling weakly heavy and ecstatically light. Never has his soul been so completely satiated before, even in the brightest days of his childhood.

Love, that’s what this must be! Love, warmth, happiness — every inkling of light this world has to offer! How could he ever feel dejected again with this angel now in his-?

“Your heart rate is spiking.” That familiar, robotic voice interrupts. “You know what happens when Ultraman gets stressed.”

Like clockwork, his color timer blares in distressful hues of light blue and sharp red. Though, how could Kenji possibly pay attention to such trivial matters when he’s holding you in his hands? How could he pay attention to anything else?

Unfortunately for his sake, reality tears him away from his entranced state by brute forcd. A blinding flash of white permeates the street and in a blink, Kenji has returned to his normal self. He is back to being the notorious baseball player, worldwide heartthrob, and, most notably, smaller than his heroic alter ego.

When he shifts his gaze up, he finds you descending from the grasp he once held you in. Just like the fearless prince in every child's imagination, he scurries to catch you before you meet the unforgiving ground.

When his bare hands meet your skin, a gasp is yanked from his chest. His heart lurches, obtaining speeds he did not deem possible. Even sprinting from base to base did not garner this physical reaction out of him. You just feel so good against him, so perfect. Like the missing puzzle piece he’s been tearing apart the house looking for, now within its respected place. Bound to be cemented there forever – that sounds good to Kenji.

“Ken, they can see you!” Mina’s frantic voice interrupts once again.

When he pulls his vision from you, he finds a collage of people begin to surround the adjacent area. Their mere gaze threatens to jeopardize his identity once and forevermore.

“I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, baby.” Kenji whispers into your ear.

Pressing a hard kiss to your cheekbone and relishing at the sensation of your skin beneath his lips, he reluctantly guides your limp body atop of the rubble. A few final caresses to your warm flesh and he is scurrying off into the night, completely inconsolable with these brand new emotions. New emotions he fears terribly, but has now clasped all coherent function in his body.

A single week had passed since the city's last Kaiju attack. These several days have proven to be nothing short of torturous for Kenji.

He has been rendered miserable after latching onto the light he’s been chasing for years, only to have it torn from his hands like candy from a baby. All because he’s been forced into a gig he never signed up for. Kenji has lost the love of his life and nothing can reprimand the grief it has left behind.

Through extensive, but fruitless effort, he has assigned Mina the task of dissecting all of Japan in search of you. With only a description of your face, coated with dirt and blood, there is very little the efficient robot can do. And once again, his desires are left to collect dust in the hollow corners of his soul.

Kenji now resides in his ‘man-cave’, as he so confidently calls it. “Healthy body, healthy mind.” Mina teases, displaying the assortment of coconut water stacked in the fridge. With a sigh of defeat, he takes a resentful sip and cringes at the horrid taste. His efforts to stuff his face with junk food like some heartbroken blonde in a chick-flick were rejected by Mina, as she is always pushing him to pursue greater health. Waving his white flag, he asks for Mina to just turn the TV on, searching for anything to mend the pain poisoning his heart.

“Ken. I wonder if you might consider taking a break.” Mina confesses.

He stares at the robot, searching her metal face for reasoning.

“From TV?”

“From finding that citizen.”

His face scrunches in disdain.

Quit you? Is she serious? How could he ever do that? Could he even survive such a predicament?

“Give up the one thing that puts a smile on my face?” Kenji questions. “Sorry. No. TV, please.”

Some sincere praise from saved citizens will surely fill the hole in his chest, he assumes. Help him in his efforts to protect that bird nest he cradles close.

The TV flickers to life and presents Channel 7 News, the place in which Kenji is featured most on. Seeing his most recent work with a bold “WOUNDED NERONGA AFTER ULTRAMAN EXIT” beneath the scene granted no surprise to him.

What does stun him into a defying silence is when the screen shifts and your face fills up the expanse. Bandage on your scalp and microphone in your hand, you inform viewers at home of the recent neutralized threat and your new status here on the channel.

“Well, this has been quite the warm welcome! I’ve just arrived here in Japan and I’ve already been greeted by the Neronga, evident in this bandage on my noggin’.”

The coconut water in his mouth spews out like a sprinkler when Kenji spits out the beverage. He chucks the open can across the room, ignoring the stain it will inevitably leave on his lavish carpets.

“That’s them! That’s them, that’s them, that’s them!” He exclaims to Mina.

Shuffling off the couch, he crawls over to the television as though his legs had completely given out beneath him. His hand caresses the surface where your cheek is.

“Sources tell us you were rescued by Ultraman himself!” A news anchor speaks.

“Yes, that is true. Unfortunately, I was a bit too woozy to thank him properly, but he did save my life. It is heroic acts like Ultraman that help keep this city alive.”

Unbeknownst to you, your words made a certain baseball player melt into putty. Hearing your praises, even when it is probably written on a script behind the camera, is nothing short of heavenly.

The anchors, third-wheeling between two soulmates, continue to blabber about other fresh events taking place in Japan. Pressing languid kisses to the fuzzy static, all Kenji can listen to, all he can focus on, is you. Every twitch of your brow, every curve of your skin, every stretch in your smile — it all has him mesmerized. Like a siren lulling a fisher into the sea, where he would dive straight into oblivion had it been you in the deep waves.

“This was Y/N L/N with Channel 7 News.”

Your name sits like honey on his tongue. Sickeningly sweet and absorbing of every word.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He repeats your name like a magic spell, almost as if you’d manifest into existence had he whispered it enough.

“Signing off.”

The screen cuts and you vanish from the screen, overtaken by irritating advertisements. As though you were physically there with him, Kenji reaches for you. Desperate to bring you, his Y/N, back into his unwavering embrace.

Now, if there is anything renowned about Ken Sato, it is his charm, which also serves as his most powerful superpower. So, with enough flexes in the mirror to give himself a good ego boost, his “put a ring on Y/N’s finger” plan has now ensued in full effect.

The foundation of this plan resides in who you are, what intricacies and threadings course through such a marvelous creature. He demands Mina, stronger than he ever has before, to learn every little detail there is to know about you. There cannot be a stone left unturned. Kenji needs to know everything.

And every fragment of information she delivers to him binds his presumption furthermore: you two were made for each other. You’re like a page torn straight from an ancient fairytale. Crafted by God himself to hold his hand. He’s sunk his fingers into your background, your dreams, your hobbies, and he has nestled them all into his bird nest, entwined with the elements of himself. Bound to remain at one another’s side for eternity.

To enlighten you on these matters, however, Kenji has to find clarity through the whirlwind of emotions overpowering his senses. Then, he is positive he’ll be granted the ability to finally speak to you. However, the thought alone is enough to send a sun-hot shiver down his spine. He’ll need some thorough caresses to his ego before he can garner the confidence to merely stand in the same room as you.

It certainly does not help when everyday is spent battling the intense waves of euphoria, obsession, and of course, the suffocating guilt.

He left you behind. He abandoned the one thing that matters most to him and nothing can atone for this mistake. All because of Ultraman being most imperative, which Kenji had been force-fed to believe. Never again will he choose his occupation over you. Or anything, for that matter. You outweigh everything in terms of vital importance.

He begins these efforts with baby-steps. To start, he assigns Mina to leave expensive gifts upon your bed. Bouquets of flowers, lush clothing, rich chocolates, luxurious jewelry, action figures and plushies galore! All you have to do is look at something in the store for more than a picosecond and it’s wrapped in a bow for you the following day. You also cannot forget the amount of times you’ve arrived home to find your favorite meals freshly made on the kitchen table.

In your overworked, lethargic brain, you assume everything is left by your sweet, elderly landlord who misses her grandkids and needs a fresh face to spoil rotten. You just choose to ignore how the gifts are impossibly far out of her budget.

Miles away from you, Kenji is tearing himself apart as he assumes your lack of recognition to be rejection. He knew he should’ve purchased those shoes in a different color! What was he thinking buying you roses instead of carnations, God, how cliché can he be!?

He should’ve known you wouldn’t lend him your heart in return for his riches. You are not that foolish or shallow; you’re far more meticulous than the greedy pigs he’s so accustomed to feeding.

Kenji will not claim defeat yet, though. He is never one to waver so easily, especially when it is you that is the golden prize. If he cannot flaunt his riches, why not himself? The richest item of all? And if his money cannot slither himself into your heart, he is positive it can push him in the intended direction.

He’ll leave lumps of cash in the hands of massive corporations, all to cast his face wherever it can reach. On billboards, on buildings, on blimps — whatever place you may possibly be. Inevitably, you will have no choice but to see his gorgeous face and fall head over heels with him. The same way you so easily made him fall for you.

Unfortunately, though, there are not enough cans of coconut water or buckets of chicken drumsticks in the world to bring you to his doorstep, there to fall into his arms and promise forever at his side. Kenji has failed in claiming your heart as his, once again, but another failure is not nearly enough to get him to welcome defeat. Not when it is you he is promised, never when it is you.

From here, he’ll pursue grander efforts. You’ll be occupied in the studio, skimming through your lines while makeup artists poke and prod at you. A squeal of excitement will permeate through the expanse, shouting out for a man by the name of Ken Sato.

Loud rumbles echo through the city streets as Kenji revs the engine to his motorcycle, complemented by his famous hair-flip and heart-throbbing wink. And feverishly, he scrutinizes every face behind the window, desperate to see those gorgeous features smile and melt at the sight of him. Then, he can spring straight into your studio, gather you in his arms, and race off into the sunset with you. Just like the fairytale dream you deserve.

But alas, the universe refuses to give him such a privilege. You’re too engrossed with the tasks at hand, not some money-obsessed athlete who adorns the walls of teenage girls across Japan.

If he could hear your assumptions, he’d assure you are sorely mistaken. Kenji doesn’t want the accolades, the riches, the fame. He just wants you. The one who showed him what it truly meant to be wild; the one who showed him what it truly meant to be free. So desperately, he wants you to know this, as well. To feel it with every beat your heart passes, to feel it imprinted in your skin with every kiss and caress he leaves. He could lose everything, just not you. God, not you.

The man is speeding off with the pieces of his shattered heart before you can even process what had even occurred.

Kenji, once again, is met with another revelation. If it is not his name that can bring you into his embrace, then maybe it is his second self, the one you so wholeheartedly praise for his heroic acts.

Dressed in these ridiculous garbs, Ultraman leads danger towards your direction to “save” your life, all other innocent bystanders be damned. These efforts do not ever bridge on being dangerous. Merely a quick scare or two. And it definitely pays off, oh, does it pay off. Watching the fear in your eyes ease into relief at the sight of him never fails to get him numb with rapture.

“Fear not, citizen! Kenj- I mean, Ultraman will save you!”

The last occasion he ever abused his role consisted of an orchestrated car accident. Nearly caught in the crossfire, you ever-so-gracefully dove away from the scene and skidded your knee in the process. A thundering “NO! BABY!” rings through the air. So absorbed in adrenaline, you do not even process the volume of the sound.

What does grasp your attention is Ultraman taking you into his hand and lifting you far, far away from the ground. You ensnare yourself around his finger in response, clinging to him like a lifeline. Kenji melts from the action, as well as the underlying implications. You, relying on him, your silver-armored prince, for protection — that is everything he could ever wish for sat right in the palm of his hands.

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay… Daddy’s here…”

The words, shaky as they are, fall from his mouth like water through a cracked dam. It’s all just so easy, assuring you of his protection and comfort. The only way of preventing him from caring for you is to end his life. And Kenji has a lot of fight in him before he’ll allow himself to be separated from you.

You remain in his hands until an ambulance arrives. For the umpteenth time, he is forced to let go of you again. He cannot hide the perceptible agony it brings him to watch you rely on somebody else for aid.

One day, it will be him, he assures himself. One day.

In the meantime, your rejection continues to take a heavy toll on him. Kenji is now famished without you, emaciated and starved to the bone. In some feeble attempt at satiating this hunger, he’ll try to find these fragments of you in others. He will drink himself ill then bring a blurry face to bed, all to shake the memory of you out of his head. These efforts, once more, only result in failure.

This time around, a harrowing guilt rots in his chest. There is no one else like you, he should’ve seen it clear as day. Kenji was a fool to ever think there could be. Now, he has cheated on the one who matters most to him. And there is nothing to placate the anguish he’s tormented by.

This perceptible ruination does not go unnoticed by journalists, either, who do not waste the opportunity of an eye-grabbing headline. Articles about him flood the web, detailing his miserable failures out on the field. Crawling to base seconds too late, sprinting directly into walls, and receiving more strikes than anyone can count — Kenji and the famous Sato name are falling apart by the seams.

He examines the glistening trophies and signed baseball cards in another attempt at protecting his ego and its butchered remains. None of it is enough, though. None of this success is notable without you at his side.

In a fit of rage, he throws his Giants helmet against the basement floors, landing with a harsh thud.

“They reject me? Ken Sato!? Best baseball player of all time!? The one and only Ultraman!?”

His poor helmet is victim to his abuse, once more, as he leans all his might into a forceful kick.

“Nobody can resist Ken Sato!”

Another attempt at thrashing around in anger results in his knees buckling beneath him, sending his body to the cold ground. That was the final failure Kenji needed to break down into a sobbing fit. Head buried in his palms, he begs, pleads, for mercy.

“I… I’m doing my best, okay? God!”

His body curls into itself, like pathetic prey trying to protect itself.

“I buy you everything you want, I save your life again and again, I-”

Kenji cuts his tangent short by choking on a gagged cry. His fist clenches over his heart, overwhelmed from the sheer pain the organ is enduring. His chest stutters and twitches from the force of his blubbering. Globs of snot and spit gush across down his face, some clumps managing to pervade across his tongue.

“Ken? Are you crying?” A monotone voice speaks.

“No! I’m… Not crying!”

His coughing whimpers and wet face reveal the truth. Weakness is something he was taught to be ashamed of, after all. What kind of man would he be if he let himself crumble over such petty matters? Would you ever fall for him after witnessing such a dramatic sight?

“Want me to load up Y/N? That might make you feel better.”

A few snivels through the silence and Kenji answers her. “Yeah… Yeah, I-I’d really like that…”

Maybe this is what he needs, just a few hits of his favorite drug to keep him in stable condition. Then, he’ll utilize the newfound strength to revive his honor, finally earning your affection in the end.

Pixels unfold in varying colors across the ground, spreading across the walls and ceiling like a reaching wave. The scene overtaking the basement now displays a romantic scene. Cherry blossom trees dance with the warm wind, petals drifting through the Spring air. A grand waterfall descends from a moss-covered mountain and leads to a river, where fish swim along with the stream. As he stands to his feet, Kenji finds himself at an arched bridge stretching over the river as the gentle melodies of nature sing around him.

When his gaze drifts around, he feels his heart practically plummet into the pit of his stomach when he sees you. Leaning over the wicker barrier and tossing out handfuls of kibble for the hungry fish.

Turning over your shoulder, you look up at Kenji with those glittering eyes, causing his breath to get caught in his throat. To make matters even worse for Kenji’s weak self, your face then breaks out into a candy-sweet smile. You are so innocently oblivious to how you’ve reduced his heart rate to an old engine, stuttering miserably. That smile could make even the devil repent, he’s sure of it. With luminosity like that, the greatest evils would have no choice but to succumb to their contrition.

Dusting your hands off, you frolic over to where Kenji stands. A lighthearted giggle escapes past your lips in the process, nearly bringing him to tears from how precious the sight is. Your hand slips into his and he might as well have crossed the pearly gates of heaven. Fuck, why hasn’t he made Mina do this before?

“Come on! Come feed the fishies with me!” You cheer in that captivating tone. That adoring voice could ask so sweetly for death and he’d deliver you buckets of blood. Just keep talking to him like that.

The impact you have on him is so immense, in fact, Kenji falls to his knees. The throbbing ache that his fall courses through his body might as well have been background noise, not when his senses are overwhelmed with how blissful your presence is.

His arms enclose around your legs, burying his face into your fuzzy sweater. With an amused hum, you sink your hands into his dark locks. The gesture makes him dizzy with elation. Spinning around the merry-go-round of devastating jubilation.

“Tell me you love me.” Kenji whines, his sensitive voice muffled against your stomach.

With another giggle that squishes his gooey heart, you respond.

“I love you, Ken.”

… Ken?

No! No, you wouldn’t call him that!

You’d call him Kenji, or better yet, you’d conjure up some adorable nickname in that witty head of yours. Anything but Ken; anything but what everyone else sees him as.

And just like that, the fantastical facade shatters and reveals what really lies beneath. None of this is real. As much as he wishes it would be, as much as he’d throw away everything for you to be beside him in this moment, all of this is merely a figment of his imagination.

“No! You’re not real! Y/N- They would never-!”

The tears return and leave his body through broken wails. Once again, he has been forged into a mess of cracked hiccups and ground-shattering sobs.

His clenched fist meets the solid ground, piercing pain invading his entire arm from the impact. The punch was thrown far from where you stand. Even as a hologram, Kenji cannot bear to hurt you. He couldn’t wish violence upon you even if he wanted to.

The dreamscape stood before him crumbles as quickly as it was formed. Darkness spreads once again and the romantic scene of cherry blossoms and fish kibble fades away. A physical manifestation of what he has become without you present.

Chasing after a sliver of your attention has now thrust Kenji into a staggering state of despair. His sob playlist shakes his house with its ear-splitting volumes, pushing more tears down his face while he stuffs his mouth with donuts.

The weight of the pain pushes him toward drastic measures, as he is now a hollow shell of who he used to be. Measures he assured himself he would never come to, but has inevitably crashed landed in.

If you do not fall for his riches, his charm, his fame, then Kenji will just have to… “persuade” you towards that goal.

Cameras flash and flicker in his face as he charms his way through another press conference of millions. Only this time, he has ground-breaking news to share.

“Fans have seen you blow supposed kisses to someone outside the venue. Is there a special someone in your life?”

Directly across the field is your studio, but he will not tell others this fact. It is his duty to protect you, after all. But, scattering a few breadcrumbs won’t hurt anyone.

“Yes. Yes there is.”

The room erupts in hushed gasps and the rushed scribbling of pens. Another wave of questions tumbles toward Kenji’s way.

“They mean everything to me. I owe all my success to Y/- I mean, my baby.”

A knowing smirk grows on his face. The Sherlock’s of the internet will surely connect the dots. Netizens will also fawn over how misty-eyed he became speaking of you, while others will rage in jealousy over their dream man falling for someone else. No matter what occurs, he will protect you during your sudden shift to fame. You have his word on that.

Days later, Kenji receives an email. And he almost considers admitting himself into a hospital for the near heart attack he receives upon reading it.

Signed by none other than Y/N L/N, you ask him to meet with you in order to “clear the air” and “sort out this drama”.

Several times, he scans the username to find some sort of fault, something that shows him it is just the works of an envious hater. However, his suspicions are never confirmed. The message is purely and undoubtedly you, no online troll or basement hologram in sight!

Without another second to waste, he responds to your email with a place and time, that being two hours from now. Kenji intends on fulfilling his role of the dashing boyfriend and to drive you there himself, flaunting his sumptuous motorcycle in the process. Mina, however, has since been programmed to detect every potential danger in your path, even something as minor as a crack in the pavement. When she displayed the graphic results of recent biking accidents, his heart lurched in his chest.

For now, he will simply have to meet you at the luxuriant restaurant he booked the best table for. In the future, he will convert to safer forms of transportation and your foot will never touch a pedal again. Not with your prince charming around.

Arriving an hour early, Kenji bursts through the bathroom doors and wipes the beads of sweat seeping down his face. All the makeup and detail he put into his appearance, all melted to a mess because of the anxiety you pump through his body.

It is almost comical. He, Ken Sato, is nervous? He’s done the classic dinner-date over a zillion times, delivering his suggestive pick-up lines and swift winks. Staring at his exasperated face in the mirror, he is at a loss of where to go from here. What will he even say? What famous lines can he use? How can he give you his black card and a copy of his house key without you running away?

Kenji finally sits down at the reserved table, located on a far balcony and looking over the grand city. His wristwatch blares red and presents the stack of missed calls from his dad, of which he willfully ignores. He went twenty years without his father and survived. Meanwhile, he went one week without you and thought he was on the cusp of death. He cannot bring himself to care about anything else. Not when he’s finally got a hook on you.

A waiter then asks him if he was feeling alright, concerned over the sight of his pale skin, shivering body, and twiddling thumbs. Kenji assures the man he is alright as he restlessly taps his foot, stalking the door ahead for the face he loves most to saunter through. The building could just about crumble to ash and he’d still sit here, waiting for your arrival.

And just like a movie, you pass the threshold and rob all the air from his lungs.

You merely walk his way, but to him, you resembled a fawn frolicking through a green meadow, an angel wandering across roads of fluffy clouds. Those sporadic nerves die at the sight of you, rendering him to a melted pile of twitterpated nonsense. You tread closer and closer and closer and Kenji does not know how much more his body can handle before you completely dissolve him into a puddle.

“You have five minutes.”

Your voice perfuses into his ears like birdsong, real and raw this time. That noise greeting him every morning is the only wish he’d ask from a magic genie.

“Wh-Wh-?” He stutters like a lovesick loser, mentally slapping himself across the head for such a pathetic introduction.

“I said you have five minutes to explain yourself. Then, I will le-”

“I love you.”

Surprise eases out your scrunched expression. You’ve never met this man before. Yet here he is, spewing out this gibberish. All of this has to be some form of joke, you assume. Where those irritating Youtube pranksters will sprint out from their hiding spots and shove their cameras in your face, cackling like hysterical hyenas.

“I am in love with you.”

Maybe this is just his way of leading partners into bed with him. A powerful effort to add another name to his lengthy body count. And for whatever reason, he plans to jot down your name on that list.

“And you are worth more to me than anything.”

You scrutinize his face for some inkling of rationality, something to explain what the fuck he means by that. Your efforts prove to be futile, as those teary, doe-eyes peer into your soul with nothing but sheer, unadulterated devotion. As though you were both fresh newlyweds enjoying the luxury of your honeymoon, complemented by the glimmer of your new wedding rings.

“Okay.” You swallow dryly, unease bleeding through your body. “You get another five minutes to explain yourself. On one condition.”

Kenji perks up at your proposition as though you had offered your hand in marriage.

“Yes! Yes, whatever you want!”

The man in question ponders over what riches you could ask him for and how elated he’d be to give you them. Taking you on shopping sprees and serving as your adoring husband, paying every penny and carrying your bags for you while you peruse to your liking. Just say the word, maybe flutter those pretty lashes, and he’ll personally deliver the very planet into your hands.

“I want you to leave me be.”

If it weren’t for the fact this man was a complete stranger, you’d feel a sting of guilt over the perceptible emotion that washes over his face. Kenji anticipated the demand of clothes, foods, travel tickets, of which he would gleefully fulfill. Not this. Anything but this.

“Alright, f-for how long? 10 minutes? 20?”

“Forever.”

You might as well have surged your fist into his chest cavity and torn his heart out, stomping out the ba-bump beneath the force of your boots. You might as well have climbed the tree behind his childhood home and ambushed his bird nest, tearing apart the array of twigs and squishing the healthy eggs. You might as well have just killed him right then and there, as nothing could pain him more than such a fate. Forever without the one he loves most is a life you couldn’t pay him to suffer through.

His bottom lip begins to tremble, stomach gurgling with nauseated shock. A few gags masked by coughs go unnoticed by you, as you could’ve sworn you saw a bright flash of white in the distance. Did someone… Take a picture?

“... What’s wrong, baby? What are you looking at, huh?”

Shifting your gaze back to Kenji, you find his features sheen with sweat and sickly-green from the queasiness you’ve forced upon him. What you especially notice is the accent of smugness beneath it all, etched into the smirk stretched across his lips.

Hushed whispers in the distance accelerate in volume, until the entire restaurant erupts in flashing lights.

Paparazzi!? What the fuck are they doing here!?

Kenji leans back into the chair and slings an arm around the back post, seemingly posing for the photographers invading your conversation.

“Oh, no! We’ve been caught! The horror! Whatever will we do now that our secret is out…?”

If it weren’t for the sake of your career, you would’ve socked that smile clean off his face. Maybe even knock out a few teeth while you’re at it.

Critics have now officially cleared the name of Ken Sato due to his recent spike in excellent performance. Sports commentators even toss around jokes of how Sato’s new partner has knocked some sense into him.

Another game of hundreds and the cologne of arrogance around Kenji could suffocate the entire arena. A recent report detailed by you is casted on the billboard outside your studio. He blows yet another kiss your way as he jogs onto the field, ignoring the shouting fans who seethe with envy. He has made it official across the nation that his heart is sewn into your hands. And not even God could level the happiness coursing through his body.

That is, until an uninvited visitor opens his mouth. The Swallows catcher begins to taunt him about his lover on the big screen, unaware of the lethal consequences it would harbor.

“You let the team hit, Sato? Shit, I might talk to coach about a transfer so I can get a piece of th-”

The baseball bat in Kenji’s hands collides with his jaw before he can finish his sentence.

Several more plunges into his skull and a swarm of teammates swarm around to break apart the scene. The crowd is alive with excited hollering, drowning out the noise of the blood-stained threats Kenji barks his way, strings of saliva spurting from his mouth like some feral mutt.

The onslaught of players quickly, albeit with struggle, overpower him, successfully retrieving the weapon from his grasp. The edges of his manicured nails dig into the meat of his palms, forming maroon crescents in his flesh. Blind with rage, more threats that will surely put him behind bars are screeched into the air.

A few harsh yanks from the group of men and Kenji is finally pried from the catcher. He is dragged off the field past the rushing paramedics before he can fulfill his promises.

“And now it looks like there are words being exchanged between Sato and the Swallows catcher... Oh! Oh, no. We haven’t seen a brawl like this in a long time! Both benches have cleared. They’re throwing punches…”

Soothing his sore muscles in an ice bath, Kenji watches the recording of his public meltdown with trepidation. Your eyes are not far and surely, you will bear witness to the violence his hands are capable of. He fears you daring to think he will treat you as such and his chest aches from the thought alone.

All he wants at this moment is to tear down the door to your apartment, take your precious face into his hands, and speak the utter truth as he assures you he will never bring harm to you. He’ll inform you of the context of the fight and what sparked such a reaction out of him. Then, you’ll thank him profusely for his heroic defense and drown him in your sugar-sweet kisses. Just like he has dreamt of every night, often waking up in the morning with his puckered lips against his knuckles.

Now, however, Kenji has surely destroyed any chances of gluing you to his side forever. You resent him for that stunt he pulled at dinner, and now, you are afraid of what he and his baseball bat may do. The ongoing success of Ken Sato has crashed and burned, resulting in the loss of what he cared for most.

“Ken!” Mina calls out to him. “I have something to show you!”

Assuming it is another plan of millions to stamp the title of ‘lover’ all over you, he rushes out of the bath and throws his clothes on. Venturing into the basement, he is met with the very last thing he expected.

The containment unit has been raised. Inside is you, fast asleep with a bow on your head. Wearing just his jersey and holding onto a plushie designed after himself.

“Surprise!”

Mina’s robotic arms stretch out, presenting the gift she captured retrieved for Kenji.

In addition to your permanent presence, the containment unit has been extensively decorated. The adornments are all pink and fluffy, like a cloud draped over a sunset. A circle-shaped bed is strung above the ground, supporting the weight of you and the mess of plushy comforters. It rocks you from side-to-side like a fussy baby who skipped out on naptime.

The scent of lavender pervading the air eases you into a deeper slumber. Tranquil white noise hums from the surrounding speakers, suffusing with the sounds of a light rainstorm. There are even holograms of shimmering stars and a full moon hovering over you, like some colossal mobile strung above a crib. Among the stars is a constellation, of some sort, that reads “Y/N SATO” in glittering letters.

And poor Kenji doesn’t know if he wants to beat Mina into shambles of wires or give her as many HTTP cookies her synthetic heart could ask for. For now, he is too woozy to make a coherent decision regarding her well-being. As he stated before, you always remain of utmost importance.

“My God…” He gasps out through stuttering breaths.

His heart pounds so violently, he can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the persistent thumping. Kenji wobbles over to you as though he had just stood on his two legs for the very first time. He is almost positive there is a certain air suffusing from your body, entering his bloodstream and choking him with fervent stress. Every step forward renders his body weaker and weaker.

Images then begin to haunt his mind, preceding what may happen in minutes time. Kenji sees your weeping face, crying to release you from this bird cage. He can hear the thundering volume of your voice declaring you will never fall in love with him, how you’ll soon vanish and leave him to forever rot in solitude.

The emotions these thoughts garner stir in his gut like a meal that doesn’t agree with him. Gags poke and prod at his throat, threatening to release the butterflies fluttering around his stomach. A glob of bile then spurts from his mouth and splats against the floor. Kenji, horrified and sick with worry, races away from the scene before he spills his guts in front of you and humiliates himself even further.

What on Earth is he meant to do now?

When you finally awaken, you’re convinced you’ve been melted into jelly. Maybe even restrained in a tank of thick oil. Limbs weak at wet spaghetti, you cling to any fragments of energy in your system as you try and discern your environment.

“Well, look who woke up!” A female voice greets you. “Do you want to see daddy?”

Something globe-shaped hovers around the barrier you’ve been ensnared in. If it weren’t for your groggy state, you’d verify it to be a robot and not a talking basketball.

“’Daddy’? What the hell are you talking about?” Your confused voice protrudes broken and sluggish, still stained with the sleep you’ve just woken from.

A screen forms above you and before your distorted vision, you find the very last sight you wished to see. Ken Sato, your own personal parasite, sits stiff in the living room just upstairs. Bouncing his leg in an anxious rhythm, he seems to be engrossed by a video on his laptop. As you listen further, the contents become more distinguishable.

“When the moment is right, lean into your partner slowly and tilt your head to avoid bumping noses.”

The robot clears her throat in an attempt at grasping his attention, but fails to do so.

“Close your eyes and let your lips connect naturally. Match the pattern of your partner to-”

Another noise of acknowledgment from the robot and Kenji’s attention is finally held. Barely, that is.

“What, Mina?” He answers curtly, eyes refusing to part from the information he is currently absorbing.

“Someone is waiting for you down here.”

In all the years you’ve lived on this planet, you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move so fast before. Not only did Mina’s words arouse a visceral reaction out of Kenji, but they practically shoved him off the couch from the sheer force of her insinuations. His foot even gets caught behind a chair leg and causes him to land splat on his face, but this is not nearly enough to deter his acceleration.

The screen you were studying then folds into itself as an elevator descends from above. Through the cyan, blurred exterior, you see the frame of no other than Ken Sato. The doors open a mere inch before the man in question is squishing himself through the tight space. Always the acrobat he is, he gracefully trips onto his face, once again, before clumsily scrambling to his feet.

Now, you’re given the ability to absorb his appearance. Messy locks of black hair lack their normal gelled accentuation. Dark eyes are blown wide as though he were some feral animal. Tan arms are covered in red scratches from the relentless, anxious scratching he abused his flesh with.

The bold ‘ICON’ on his shirt mocks you. Is that what he is? Is that what he expects you to perceive him as? Would an ‘icon’ do such a thing like this?

You ponder over how much time has passed since you’ve been brought into this horrid basement, how much time has passed before friends and family have deemed you missing.

Kenji knows the answer to your questions. It had only been a day; twenty-four full hours of crazed, restless worry. He even skipped out on the championship for this moment, just to ensure you remained safe in the basement. He trusts Mina, of course, but he cannot rely on her to restrain you. The grasp he has on you is dangling by a thread, worn thin by his own stupid antics from before.

He knows now that if you were to take one step out the door, you’ll be gone forever. And Kenji will die before he allows that to happen.

Meanwhile, you’re still trying to garner pieces of your memory together. After returning to your apartment from a hectic day at the studio, you allowed yourself to indulge in the hot meals always waiting for you at your kitchen table. Normally, you’d chuck them in the garbage out of distrust. Tonight, however, you were so overwhelmed with lethargy, you couldn’t conjure enough energy to cook yourself a meal. So, the magic dinner-fairy would receive your blessing in the meantime.

One bite in and you were out like a light, oblivious to what exactly is waiting for you once you wake.

What was waiting for you now dashes toward the edge of your dog kennel, as you’d describe it. Kenji places a hand to the surface and his forehead lands against the wall with a light thud. His quickened, gasping breaths fog the glass. He does not leave even a centimeter between himself and the barrier separating both of you. The legs that have scored him more wins for the Giants than any other played in history suddenly grow weak, trembling as they try to support his weight.

Kenji’s half-lidded gaze is devoted to you only. A curl forms between his brows from the fervency of his emotions the longer he stares. His cheeks go red as two ripe cherries while he just stands and watches, all dewy-faced and blushing.

“Lower the containment unit.” He pants breathlessly, the sheer tone of love drooping from every syllable that parts from his mouth. Like pockets of honey seeping from a honeycomb.

“Ken. That might be a bad idea. We cannot anticipate how they will react.”

He presses lazy kisses against the glass as her words go through one ear and out the other. Ignoring her warning, he assures her of these concerns.

“I got ‘em, I got ‘em… My baby…”

To your horror, the walls plummet and grant this monster full access to where you lie. Kenji collapses, again, not realizing he had been leaning his full weight against the walls of the containment unit. This sudden intrusion causes you to flinch and you crawl away from him, attempting to shield yourself beneath the thick covers.

Body shivering with feverish need, his hand grasps onto the corner of the mattress to stabilize himself. Mere inches away from your foot. His chin lifts to look your way, his eyes only needing to bathe in the sight of you forever. Within his irises, you find swirling pools of darkness illuminated by specks of glitter. Sparkling for you and you alone.

A smile pokes at Kenji’s lips, bright and formidable, before he addresses your sour expression.

“Aww, why the long-face? Is my baby hungry, maybe?”

At the foot of the bed, a fraction of the floor folds open and rises a platter. On this platter is an array of all your favorite foods. Snacks, candies, sodas, juices, whatever your heart could possibly desire. Mina has correlated an all-you-can-eat buffet just for you. Similar to the dishes left for you back in your apartment.

As it spins, displaying every inch and corner of its delicious offerings, you curl further into yourself. You do not want nourishment, you want to leave! To part from this maniac and never hear of his name again!

With your refusal to eat, Kenji determines the reason behind your dismay to be because of him. Or, in his egotistical brain, the lack of him. The works of an absurdly large ego, you’d surmise.

“Do you… Do you need… Me?” The hope in his voice is akin to a child in disbelief over receiving surprise tickets to Disneyland.

And Kenji just melts from how gut-wrenchingly adorable you are. By simply existing, you’re yanking at his heartstrings like a puppeteer, guiding him further and further towards the edge of sanity. With eyes peering up at him like that, he’ll welcome the predicament warmly.

“Oh… I’m right here, baby. Daddy won’t leave you.” He coos in your ear, the warm cadence practically oozing into your brain.

Still overwhelmed with exhaustion, you do not have a morsel of strength left in your body to fight off his affections. Despite how desperately you wish to. Instead, you have to remain pliant as Kenji guides you onto your back, soothing and shushing you as you sink further into the plush surface.

Tearing his shirt from his body, the loss of the ‘icon’ status, he crawls beneath the opulent covers with you. His arm snakes around your waist, while the other cradles your cheek. Hands shuddering and heart pattering as he presses himself against your back, he wonders how he had not simply died right in this moment. You’re too perfect. It’s too much for his poor heart to take. Cupid may as well have discarded the pink-hued arrows and plunged a knife straight into his chest.

Kenji leaves an array of kisses on the back of your neck as you drift back into a tranquil slumber. All those wishes he set on shooting stars have finally returned and placed you directly in his beloved bird nest. All to stay at his side forever.

All to never leave.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ WHY CAN'T I FIND

NO ONE LIKE YOU . . . ? ❞

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