#tokyo nightlife entertainment

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༉‧₊˚. episode 04: lonely star

preview: ". . .He knows a part of him is right, what he said wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, he could’ve said it in a different way—whenever he remembers the dejected expression across your features, the attempt at covering up the hurt behind your eyes by pulling away from him as though he was fire—his heart sits heavy.

And then the two of you didn’t talk again. He didn’t bother to try to text you, and you would never text him first."

content warning: cursing, hanma owns a strip club, oral s.ex, unprotected s.ex, choking, hair pulling, no aftercare.

word count: 7k

➜ ┊: @softshuji @mitsuwuyaa @kariatenoh @reiners-milkbiddies @citrusteaa @bejeweled-night-33

➜ MASTERLIST

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

Tokyo was a bustling city. People escape from the mundane using any source of entertainment allowed. From going shopping to partying, the city provides numerous remedies for any challenging moment a person might experience. There, in the depths and labyrinth streets of Tokyo and its lively nightlife, exists a world that only unravels to those who dare seek it. Hidden between tall buildings and colorful signs, paradise on earth stands proudly.

A black car pulls up in the alleyway, parking right outside the back entrance of a disheveled looking building. The door opens and cigarette hits the dirty floor. A foot crashes the bud, adorned in squeaky clean shoes that do not fit the vibe of the creepy alleyway. Golden Glow reads in bright neon light right above the back door. The man’s slender fingers push the wooden door open, stepping into a vibrating world of sensuality and allure where reality and fantasy blur for hours on end at night.

The air is thick with perfume and anticipation, a line of rich men of all backgrounds sitting on the deep red plush seating facing the focal point of the strip club. Murmurs of who will be performing next fill the room and the tall man makes his way towards the VIP table.

“You’re late.” Kisaki doesn’t pull his eyes away from the curtains waiting to unravel tonight’s star, more or less used to this kind of behavior from his right hand.

“I had to take care of something.” Announces Hanma as he pulls his seat back and grabs a cigarette. The relationship he had with smoking was more of a toxic affair—a continuous tag of war between depending on the small bud and desiring a whiff of the substance when things get a bit too hectic. With each inhale, he feels a momentary release from existing. He’s never enjoyed it, not fully at least. Existing meant he had to abide by rules, which he never did. Breakups were nasty, women lashing out insults towards the man they called a God only a few nights prior—they should’ve known better, is what he tells them every time. He never claimed to be a good person, just a good—no, an amazing fuck.

Hanma’s dick serves as a distraction from his violent nature, he momentarily hypnotizes those women with each sharp and angled thrust from his hips. Deliciously dragging out moans, whines and profanities, proclaims of how godly he feels and how they’ve never had better. He is good at using and not giving much in return, he shows it through prioritizing his orgasm, only speaking when the dirty talk tips him over the edge. Shuji doesn’t budge as a pillow is thrown his way, ‘asshole!’ sounds from behind the door he’s just closed and he swears he could feels his fingers twitch. He’ll spare the cleaning staff of the hotel a blood bath tonight.

“You took too long,” Nahoya adds his two cents as usual, and the tall man wonders what the orange haired even provides for him to remain alive and attending special nights like these.

“It’s your club, you’re supposed to get here first.” Kisaki presses and the lights dim as the curtains open, revealing tonight’s a woman clad in a gorgeous set of deep red lingerie. She commands attention with the way her body carries her across the stage, each step is like a soft whisper, beckoning more people to look at her—admire her. She embraces the power she holds over the spectators, feeling a surge of dopamine push her to do better.

“You’re not my fucking dad. I’ll get here when I want to.” His fingers tremble as he drags the cigarette away from his lips, resting his wrist on the table as his whole hand shakes. You would think that years of smoking would get the man used to the motion, familiarized with the aftermath of each whiff—somehow, it doesn’t. Through furrowed eyebrows and behind framed glasses, Kisaki notes the unusual behavior from the man. He is far too moody, perhaps more than usual. Hanma took pleasure into killing, coming back from missions was almost as euphoric as an orgasm after being denied for so long. As far as his report went, the mission was done and Toman’s men were able to discard of the dead body rather easily. So what was wrong?

The younger man doesn’t say anything, he waits until the show wraps up and for people’s attention to drift elsewhere to speak to the taller man. As Hanma, not so quietly, slips away from the table and onto one of the VIP rooms upstairs, Kisaki soon joins him.

“So, wanna talk about what’s up your ass lately?”

“What do you mean?” Hanma’s voice is devoid of any emotion, but he still looks unimpressed as he casts half a glare towards Kisaki.

“You know what I mean. Something’s up your ass, you need to fucking pull it out and do your job. I don’t need a moody bitch as my first in command.”

Hanma’s heard worse over the years, he knows what it meant to be involved with someone as nasty and as disgusting as Kisaki. However, he was having a bad week and Kisaki came to him at the wrong moment.

“This moody bitch will blow holes into your brain and make it seem like it was a pathetic attempt to kill yourself. Don’t fuck with me.” The tension rises between the two men, silence engulfs the room that’s hidden to the rest of the audience. They’ve had to fight before, the scars littering Hanma’s arms a reminder of Kisaki’s knife slashing the man’s skin. The shorter man’s own scarred hands a grim testament to what Shuji was capable of doing. The two of them don’t speak another word.

Kisaki sits on one of the soft chairs facing Hanma, placing his gun on the tiny glass table. The other man does the same, and it feels like a silent agreement that neither of them was going to harm the other.

“I went to her place.” There’s no question about who he is referring to. Kisaki knows all too well who you are. He’s seen you from afar when you were all young, unknowingly grasping the heart of a delinquent who’s never known what the feelings he had for you even meant. His face twitches as he remembers the conversation he had with the man a couple of weeks ago.

“You found her?”

“She’s back in Shinjuku.” Kisaki doesn’t miss the way Chifuyu’s body tenses up when the two men mention your name. He’s managed to keep you away from this mess for years now, his plan was coming crashing down from a single interaction with Hanma Shuji. Like domino pieces lined up, the tattooed man blows on them and watches them tumble just for fun. He was after you just for fun, Chifuyu fears.

“And? What do you wanna do now?” Kisaki’s busy rummaging through papers in his drawers, he doesn’t lift his gaze as he continues. “Do you want the men to take her away or?”

Sensing his silence, Tetta raises his eyes and notices the deadly look on Hanma’s face. Had it not been Kisaki, a man who’s known him for years and was desensitized to his glares, he would’ve most likely fallen from his chair. His eyes became storm clouds, hiding their usual golden color and crackling with the threat of lightning. Hanma’s never cast him a look similar to this before, usually blessed with an emotionless face.

“No. I don’t want any of them near her.”

Kisaki leans back against his seat. He’s seen Hanma get riled up over things like missions going wrong, people pissing him off, testing his patience—this was a different kind of negative emotion he was displaying. Dare Kisaki say that it was fun to witness? Perhaps even unexpected from the tall man? But he doesn’t say a thing, only gives a curt nod and proceeds to finish the task at hand.

“Why is that?” he asks, curious to know what lead the man to end up in your place.

He glances towards his fingers which had long ago healed, he could still feel your fingertips against his skin, warm breath fanning over his wrist as you tended to his wounds with so much care, as though you were stitching a tiny tear in a delicate fabric.

“She cleaned me up.” Kisaki has to blink a couple of times, but he notices how Shuji keeps his gaze fixated on his fingers. He chews on his bottom lip out of habit. The band aid wrapped around them is unfamiliar, the man’s never taken care of himself this way—oddly enough, Kisaki feels that Hanma had a strange attachment to the adhesive strip keeping his healed cuts safe. It has been days since that incident, he most definitely did not need to cover his hands that way.

“Cleaned you up?” Kisaki pours himself and the other man a glass of whisky, pushing one of the glasses towards Hanma.

“Saw my hands and thought that I was in pain.” The taller man mumbles as he brings the glass of whisky up to his swollen lips. Downing the liquid like rapid fire, he slams the glass on the table and leans in his chair, head thrown back as he grunts.

“I think I fucked up.” Hanma admits, his hand covering his eyes. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you or your touch since that night. So soft, offering him what he has deprived himself of for years—you were so gentle with his hands, treating him as though he was made of glass. Your beautiful eyes witnessed the harm he is capable of causing to others, yet your soul set that aside to make sure he was okay.

Only for him to mess it up.

He knows a part of him is right, what he said wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, he could’ve said it in a different way—whenever he remembers the dejected expression across your features, the attempt at covering up the hurt behind your eyes by pulling away from him as though he was fire—his heart sits heavy.

And then the two of you didn’t talk again. He didn’t bother to try to text you, and you would never text him first.

He was growing impatient with each passing second. He wasn’t an expert at solving this kind of problems, let alone when it involved him in the equation. However, one thing was for certain; his insatiable need to feel you again made every moment apart from you feel like he’s been cursed with damnation.

--

October comes to an end, you start to accept the atmosphere of loneliness that settles like a heavy cloak over the landscape. The days grow shorter and the nights longer, there are Halloween decorations displayed along the entrance of every apartment door. It’s adorable. Pumpkins, bats, and your most favorite—cats are all over the fronts of every store. You look up and find paper lanterns with spooky designs, themed displays in shopping malls, and themed merchandise in stores. You find yourself yearning for the celebration to linger a bit longer.

As the days turn into weeks, Hanma’s absence becomes palpable. You cannot ignore that the lack of his pestering feels strange and foreign, when you had only started speaking to the man again for a couple of days only. Like a shadow retreating to darkness, it feels like he never existed in your life. You’re back to living life the same way that you did before he suddenly reappeared in your life—you don’t know why you’re disappointed. After witnessing murder with your two eyes, you thought that Shuji would scare you. He should. Such an unpredictable man with a history of violence that remains unknown to you should instill a deep fear in you. Then why do you find yourself craving the presence of a man whose ruthlessness carves a path of destruction? A man whose words made it feel like walking through a field of thorns?

You pay your feelings no mind as you drown yourself in chores, making sure there was no speck of dust left on each furniture of your apartment. A shower soothes your nerves afterwards, the motion of scrubbing the dirt off of your skin a subliminal attempt at getting Hanma’s aura off of you. You make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, top it off with some marshmallows as you settle on the comfortable couch with a soft yet heavy blanket draped over your shoulders. The movie you picked for the night is nowhere near comforting, but you brush it off for the sake of Halloween vibes.

However, those feelings melt away as soon as ears pick up on the sound of footsteps near your door. It was pretty late for anyone to be visiting you, let alone on Halloween night. You set your hot chocolate down and walk towards the door in quiet footsteps, praying that you don’t make a noise by accidentally breathing too hard.

Behind the door, Hanma stands looking almost apologetic. His head hangs low not out of shame, but because he sees your shadow from under the door. He holds back a chuckle.

 “It’s me.”

When he hears no reply, he pushes himself off of the wall and walks away from the door. An uncomfortable feeling gnawed at his chest, but he refuses to acknowledge any of it as his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He lets one dangle between his lips as he reaches for the lighter. Until he hears the creaking sound echoing in the hallway.

Glancing back, he sees that your door was no longer closed, but he couldn’t see you either. His feet slowly drag him towards your doorstep once again and the moment he attempts to peek inside, your face pops from behind the door. The both of you pull away at the same time, you almost close the door in his face but his foot stops it before you could close it shut.

“I had to hide my cat. He likes to escape when I open the door.” You announce with a tone that appears to be protective, very used to your fur companion’s habits. Hanma nods, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. It wasn’t until you break eye contact that he realizes he’s been staring at you without uttering a single word.

“Are you alone?” He can see inside your apartment, he towers over you with so much ease. You shift your weight from one foot to another, eyes avoiding his as you stare back at the TV screen and the obviously empty living room.

“Yeah,” you pause, glancing back towards him. “Why?”

“I was thinking you could—“ he wiggles his fingers. “See if they’re okay.” You stare down at the band aids wrapped sloppily around the skin and have to fight back the urge to smile. “I tried to do it myself but I don’t think I did as much of a good job as you did,” which was true and very apparent.

You take a moment to consider your options, chewing on your bottom lip as you fixate your stare on his hands. It was relatively late at night, you were wearing a light sleep dress—this could either go right or horribly wrong. For now, you don’t mind taking the risk.

Pushing the door wide, you see the way his eyes glimmer as they scan your entire body from head to toe. He doesn’t hide that he is checking you out, even as he steps inside your place, he chooses to stare at you instead of scanning his surroundings like last time. You refuse to crumble under his gaze nor change what you were wearing, you close the door and make your way to the kitchen without uttering a single word.

Hanma suddenly thinks of something and he bites back the urge to smirk as he makes his way towards the kitchen as well. This is the farthest he’s been in your place, your kitchen is rather small compared to the one he has in his apartment, but he appreciates how full it is. From the fruit sitting on the counter, the coffee machine, the magazines, the small board where you have what looks like a to-do list written there—it feels homey. It feels like you.

You glance behind you, noticing the pair of shoes in your kitchen and don’t bother to look back, but you feel a tad bit annoyed.

“No shoes in my house,” no response. Surely, he wasn’t going to ignore you when you were about to take care of him.

“I said—“ your stomach flutters and your breath catches when you feel something land on your shoulder, hot breath fanning the tiny bit of skin exposed from your sleep dress falling to the side. You hold your breath for what feels like an eternity, body frozen in place.

“No shoes in the house?” his deep voice sends chills down your spine, his hands resting against the fridge instead of gripping your hips.

His fingers twitch when the smell of sweet vanilla and coconut hits his nostrils, your scent is intoxicating and he struggles with himself. Every instinct urges him to break free and surrender to the intoxicating allure, yet the tether of restraint holds Hanma firmly and keeps his impulse in check. He doesn’t want to upset you again, but he thoroughly enjoys seeing you like this. So flustered.

As he pulls away from you, you turn to face him and use the first aid kit to put space between the two of you, like a shield. If you were trying to appear intimidating with the scowl on your face, Hanma’s smirk tells you that you were failing miserably.

“What the hell is your problem?” you don’t even sound mad, just completely and utterly embarrassed. You were fighting a war between your brain and your needs—the warmth of his body lingered on your skin for far too long, and although his breath reeked of cigarette and something minty, it made you feel dizzy.

“You’re red in the face, doll.” He purrs, making his way towards the couch. This time, you were certainly not going to get down to your knees and treat his cuts. Not after the stunt he pulled.

“Shut up.” You groan, sitting on the couch.

“You’re like, totally vermillion in the face—“

“I will kill you!”

He snorts and comfortably settles on the couch right beside you. One glance at his hands and you can tell that it really isn’t that serious. You bring his hands close to your face, inspecting them as soon as you take off the adhesive strips. There are a few faint scars, but they’re all healed and he only needs to apply ointment to them for extra measure. You put them back in his lap for a few seconds, leaning forward to grab the ointment you placed on the small coffee table in front of the both of you. You don’t realize that you had both gone awfully quiet after that moment, for a few seconds you almost forget what his touch felt like until you feel a pair of eyes burning holes in your face.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” you blurt out, never meeting his eyes. You want to appear unbothered by all of this, by his intense way of giving you attention. But god knows how loudly your heart was thumping in your chest.

“Would you let me do it?” oh my god.

You don’t respond, you want to focus on the task at hand and step away from him as quickly as you can. The longer you felt him near you, the harder it was to contain yourself from matching his energy, his flirtatious comments. You were supposed to be mad at him, why did you cave into his request of having his minor cuts treated once again when the man ruined your mood the other night?

“No, I wouldn’t.” You say firmly, although your touch against his skin is very soft. Hanma can tell that you’re fighting an inner battle, you’re not good at hiding it. Your furrowed eyebrows make his own skin burn, his thumb craves to smoothen the skin of your forehead, get you to relax that jaw and melt against him the same way he does when the tip of your finger grazes his skin. He snaps out of his thoughts when he sees that you were already putting everything back in the white box, golden eyes staring between your hands and face.

“We’re done?”

“Yeah, you should be fine now.” You get up and head back to the kitchen, leaving Hanma alone with his thoughts once again. He notices that the movie you were watching was paused only 20 minutes in and the hot chocolate sitting on your coffee table was starting to go cold. It seems as though your night was just getting started and him showing up put it on hold.

However, Hanma doesn’t want to leave just yet. He can’t put his finger on why he feels the need to stay, perhaps the idea of going back into his car, driving to his empty place made him feel a little bit sick to his stomach. It was an unspoken rule for Hanma to never visit his place unless he really needed something. Clothes, money—he always packed those in a bag and left it in his car. His place—located in the heart of the city's shadows, is nestled within a towering skyscraper, its imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows over the streets below. Whenever Shuji inserts the key card, he is greeted by an atmosphere steeped in mystery and menace. Dark, rich tones dominate the décor. Nothing about the 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms apartment made it feel homey. So Hanma avoided it like the plague.

He thinks he can find an excuse to stay a little longer with you. Should he take you out? He can’t. You were far too comfortable in your sleep dress to change into something else. The movie seemed interesting, perhaps a few sweet words would convince you to let him stay a little longer before he has to depart—

“Have you had dinner yet?” You break his chain of thoughts so easily, Hanma is a little taken aback at first. Glancing back towards you, he sees you holding two white ceramic plates in one hand. The pot, which he assumed had warm, homemade food in it, is sitting on the stove with a ladle inside. Were you offering him a meal?

“Not yet,”

“I figured you skip meals,” you say with a frown. You forget the grudge you’re supposed to hold against him, it nestles itself somewhere in the back of your head the moment you see Hanma lost in his thoughts. You glance at his face—not as full as it was when the two of you were kids. He’s never had chubby cheeks, but you could tell when the man had a good meal and when he hadn’t eaten properly in a while. You naturally find yourself reheating the food you made for yourself, grateful you decided to cook more than a singular portion.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” he clarifies, as though he needs you to understand where he is coming from but then his lips are sealed shut. He’s never had to explain himself to anyone, it’s a little foreign for him to be doing it with you.

“You forget?” you guess, your back facing him as you serve him a good portion of the katsu curry you’ve made. You make sure to give him a bigger portion than yours, assuming that the man has probably skipped lunch as well.

“Mhm.” With the way he engulfed you in his arms previously, you shouldn’t trust him so blindly and have your back facing him again. But you don’t seem to care as much, maybe even wishing he does it again. Instead, you hear a chair creak from behind you and see that the man has made himself comfortable in your kitchen. You hand him his food before sitting across from him, then the two of you dig into the food.

Hanma hasn’t tasted something this good in—14 years. Ever since his mother stopped cooking him a decent meal. You made a dish that’s such a delightful harmony of textures and flavors, engulfing him with a warm velvety blanket he would never throw over his own shoulders. He glances towards you and you’re focused on your food—at least, you look like you’re trying to focus. He sees that some habits never really left you. You ate fast, way too fast, never truly savored your food. You still had a habit of bringing the food close to your nose and inhaling the scent (he never understood why you did it). He can remember the last time you tried to smell something he was about to eat—a sandwich he had bought that had a weird mixture of ingredients, you leaned down to inhale its scent and Shuji swears he hasn’t laughed as hard ever since. The face you made was of pure disgust, pushing the bread back into his hands and away from you. You’ve always had such an expressive face—either that, or Shuji stares at you a bit too much.

The present situation mirrors your date at the ramen shop in sad ways. It is obvious that the two of you have grown apart, no longer needing to be so close to one another at any given moment. The person who sits across of Shuji Hanma is someone he recognizes but doesn’t fully know—he recognizes certain habits that even time couldn’t tear away from you. But your touch, your body and soul feel different. On them lingers this love and care you still held for the man along the years, but never to a full extent. It seemed as though even whilst with him, you were thinking of something else—somebody else. He could be mistaken and you’re just trying to push him away, but Hanma’s gut feeling never betrayed him.

His stomach twists in knots when he sees you reach for the jewelry adorning your neck—a necklace with a golden heart pendent. You hold onto it with so much care, cautious not to break the fragile accessory.

He is reading too much into it.

He pulls his eyes away from you once he’s done with his curry, polite enough to put his plate in the sink and wash it off for you. You stare at his large back in silence, contemplating your next words.

“Tonight’s Halloween.”

Hanma turns to look at you, his raised eyebrow an indication that he didn’t know where you were going with this.

“Yeah? You got a costume you want to show me?” he teases, bracing himself against your kitchen counter. You have to pull your eyes away from his hands and arms, ignoring the way your pussy throbs at how large he looks in your tiny kitchen. You realize what he says and make an offended face, standing up with your own plate and utensils and walking towards the sink.

“Over my dead body.” You nudge his side with your elbow, he moves away from the sink but still stands next to you.

“Okay then?” he questions as you turn on the water.

“You could stay and watch the movie.” You offer without looking at him. You were scared that your face would betray you, you almost slipped and said ‘with me’ and that would give him the upper hand, another thing to tease you about.

“Like a date night?” you halt your movements, quickly turning off the faucet and turning to stare at him. Your breath hitches when you see his face so close to yours. He isn’t trying to intimidate you, the playful glint in his eyes give away his true intentions. However, you can’t deny that having him so close to you was starting to be challenging for your self-control.

“I… I don’t know.” your voice is barely above a whisper. You try to build a wall between the two of you, put some distance, but it’s useless. Hanma stares at you with golden orbs that mimic lanterns lit up in the night, evoking a sense of nostalgia that felt so strange to you—

Up until now, Hanma was a mere teenage crush you had parted ways with on less-than-great terms. There wasn’t a single time during those twelve years where your heart yearned for the man, remembered the way he would make your stomach leap and be like a light at the end of the tunnel—why let such silly feelings resurface so unexpectedly? You could blame it on your celibacy, not having been out on a proper date for a couple of months now—but even as you look at it, you haven’t been this interested in anyone for a while.

What was Hanma Shuji doing to you? What was so different about him? Could it be that the man’s touch messed you up?

He steps closer to you, tall figure looming over your smaller frame in an attempt at caging you between him and the sink. He’s got a million things to say and yet, his lips remain frozen. Yearning to feel the warmth of your own softer, plushier ones. As you confess shakily, although your hands far too comfortable holding onto his shirt for it to sound convincing, he chuckles and you smell his minty breath.

Everything about him looks…inviting. You cannot look away from his neck, or his jaw or his lips. You’re lost in a trance, on this terrifying journey where you wish to be able to hear something other than your own heartbeat. Deafening, muting the world around you for a split second as Hanma leans down and captures your lips in a fiery kiss.

It’s different than the one shared at the ramen shop—there was no waiting, no longing for your touch for twelve long years. You were at hand reach, so close to him like a dream. Hanma needed you like the moon needs the stars, promised himself to tattoo the feeling of your lips against his for years to come—they fit perfectly against his, like a mold made specifically for his body. It’s surreal. The initial kiss is short, gently easing you into the sea of his passionate and intense loving, because when his lips reattach to yours, you’re being pinned to the wall.

His hands grab your face, they hold you in place like he’s been craving to breathe again for an eternity. You can smell him, feel him on you everywhere even with layers of clothes stuck to your skin, set ablaze like a furnace. His electrifying touch leave goosebumps in their wake, trailing from your cheek down to the back of your neck. There, his hand grips your nape before his fingers dig into your scalp.

When you gasp at his touch, Hanma’s heart leaps. Like a ticking bomb, it was only a matter of time before he unleashed a side of him he wasn’t sure he wanted to offer so early on. You’re such a tease, he thinks. Why were you giving him those eyes as he pulls away from the kiss? Why are you biting your already swollen lips if you didn’t want him to bury himself so deep inside you?

“Ask me to leave.” He says, voice firm as he tries to catch his breath.

“Shuji—“ you go for his face but he grabs your wrist mid-air.

“Ask me to leave, doll.”

“No.”

“This is your chance,” he leans down, close to your face and brushes his lips against yours. “—won’t stop if I start.”

“If I touch this,” his hand gropes your boob over your dress. “If I kiss this,” he yanks your head back, brushing his lips against your throat. “I promise you. I won’t be able to stop.”

At this point, you’re more than fed up with his teasing and crash your lips against his. You push yourself off the wall as get on your tiptoes to reach for his lips, and he decides to end your struggle and picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You kiss him harder, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he marches towards your room.

“Didn’t take you for a biter,” his words are muffled against the skin of your neck as he kisses there. You throw your head back, allowing him more room to work with and you feel your back hitting the familiar soft mattress. The bed was made, but the blankets are quickly discarded to the floor as Hanma’s mess of limbs loom over your figure and plant hungry kisses on the skin that’s showing.

Thanks to your choice in outfit, Hanma finds it easy to strip you naked. Skilled fingers undo your bra to reveal your breasts in full display, but his hands are busy groping at your mound. You gasp at how rough he is handling your body, but the wet patch forming in your underwear indicated just how much you’ve been craving this kind of attention. His lips attach to your hardened nipple, whilst his left hand twists and fiddles with the other one. It feels like he is attempting to nurse on you with how hard he sucks, golden eyes staring deeply at your fucked out face. Messy hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, and your eyes barely able to stay open as he gives your erogenous zones the right amount of attention.

“Mmm you’re so soft,” he teases the nipple with his teeth and chuckles when he feels you try to squeeze your thighs together from under him.

“Shuji,” you breathe out, as soft as a silken thread.

Pulling away from your breasts, he admires the hickeys he’s painted across your skin—branding you as his on your very first night together. Sure, he’s done this before but never this passionately. He wants those bruises to never go away, glued to your skin like a tattoo and a constant reminder that this is what being his meant. He attaches his lips to your skin again, this time on your torso—he travels down to your stomach, passes your belly button before kissing right above your panties. He notices how drenched they are and hisses.

“Fuck, you’re fucking dripping.” He says as he moves them to the side and his mouth falls open, drool threatening to spill. “All for me, doll?” his thumb teases at your engorged clit and you whimper.

“Don’t tease, fuck—!”

You react almost immediately as he attaches his lips to your clit. Your legs try to close around his head but he is having none of it as he grips your thighs and forces them open, continuing his assault on your pussy.

“Shit, shit!” you gasp as he lays his tongue flat against the bud before moving his head from side to side while watching intently as you writhed and twitched under his touch. There was no way you could escape his mouth, tongue moving down to lap at your folds while his fingers pinched your clit. Hanma craves to exist between your thighs for the rest of eternity, a place so warm and so wet, offering him the best of both worlds.

He pushes two fingers past your folds, grinning from ear to ear when he sees the way your body tenses up. Curling them upwards, the combination of his rough finger fucking and his mouth’s continuous assault on your clit makes you cum hard. You’re writhing, crying desperately for the man’s head to leave your thighs. Soft “I can’t—I can’t!” resonate through the room, but soon die down when he spares your pussy and instead, litters soft kisses over the inner of your thighs.

“You did so well, took me like a champ,” it seems as though the only time Hanma shows any emotion beside boredom, is when he has you under his mercy like this. It’s when he makes you blush, flustered, angry or in this case, cum so hard that you have to take a moment to remember your name—that’s when he feels alive, as though life is worth living again.

Your heart thumps loudly when you hear him fumble with his belt. A sound that makes your ears perk up, eager with anticipation. You push yourself up with your elbows, licking your lips when you see the obvious bulge in his pants. It makes your mouth water, and your hand reaches down to palm him through his pants. A rough hand grabs your wrist, you look up at the man hovering over you with lustful eyes. You stare at him through your lashes, neither of you uttering a single word—he is telling you not to touch, not right now, and you are craving his body like earth needs the sun.

You squeeze the bulge, lips parting when he closes his eyes and leans down towards you. You hear a soft groan emitting from the back of his throat, and it’s your sign to do it again and even go further. Hanma puts a halt to your attempt with a rough kiss against your lips, pushing you back against the soft mattress until you are whining against his lips.

“Oh what is it?” he says, almost mocking your sounds. “Do you need something?”

“Shuji—“ you are way too embarrassed by how he is speaking to you, staring to the side. But he doesn’t seem to mind your bashfulness, rather indulging it by kissing your cheek and then your pulse. The kiss on the cheek is a stark contrast to how roughly he finger fucked you, and when he finally releases his cock and you see the way it jumps—your stomach twists in knots.

That thing will reach spots your own fingers haven’t been able to.

You panic when he starts to tease your folds, hands pushing at his shoulders to remind him to use protection. You did not want to have a kid running around anytime soon.

“I’m clean,” he says and a part of you can’t help but not fully trust him. He sees the expression on your face and chuckles, leaning down to kiss your neck as you melt back on the mattress.

“I get tested frequently.”

“I’m not on the pill—“

“Don’t worry, I can’t get you pregnant.”

You don’t have time to question what that could possibly mean, lips forming an ‘O’. You are forced to lay back and take it as Hanma’s cock keeps going deeper and deeper—you feel full of him. A sob erupts from your chest as you feel him pull his hips back and then—thrust.

He repeats the motion a few times, piercing eyes scanning your face like a hawk. He wants to memorize your body like the back of his hand, wants to tattoo the feeling of your warm and soft cunt at the forefront of his mind—you are so soft and pliable, making sweet noises that he easily swallows by kissing you deeply.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,”

You moan into his mouth when he angles his hips a certain way, Hanma grins victoriously against your lips and uses his hands to grab the back of your knees. Pushing them to your chest, he enjoys the sight of you taking his cock like a sweet girl. You’re so cock hungry, practically begging him to fuck you silly with those glossy eyes staring deeply into his.

“Yeah? You like that?” he purrs, his deep voice sending chills down your spine. He removes one of his hands from the back of your knee and wraps it around your neck in a possessive grip, watching as the early signs of your orgasm start to creep in on you like a shadow in the dusk.

“Such a nasty fucking girl—“ filth continues to spew out of his mouth at the same rate as your loud whines. Your eyes can barely stay open as he quickens his pace, jaw going slack when his thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He shamelessly leans back to stare at your pussy as he continues to fuck it, watching as his cock slides in and out of you. The room is filled with wet noises, the sound of skin slapping against each other reaching Hanma’s ears as he takes in the sight before him.

You were so pliant beneath him, no longer putting up walls in his presence. He loved it. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock keeps nudging at that one spot that makes you dizzy. Your hand wraps around his wrist as he continues to pin you to the mattress by the neck, you stare up at him with glossy eyes, thighs twitching and your back arching off as you finally cum.

Hanma swears he has never seen something as magical. You feel like a magnetic force, pulling him closer with an irresistible allure that ignites a fire in his stomach and sets his senses ablaze. It tips him over the edge, he empties himself inside you with a loud groan as he lets go of your neck and holds onto your boobs as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Now what? It’s not like he’s never had sex before, he was in fact very good at it—but usually, he gets up and leaves the moment he empties his balls inside. Now, he worries that you would get the wrong idea, that you’d think he’s using you—does he want to use you?

Isn’t this what he wanted all along? To fuck you senseless the moment he saw you run towards the metro station in your tight skirt. His mind was reeling with all the possibilities of what could be underneath the fabric—perhaps a matching set, or if you wanted to be a tease, nothing.

He starts to wonder what his intentions were with you—he wanted to be your friend without getting too close to you. He couldn’t afford having you near him at all times, that came with a cost he wasn’t sure you could afford. In your arms, he didn’t feel as though he needed to prove anything to you—not his existence, nor his power. And for a man who lives his life in pure chaos, a house that didn’t have a mess isn’t one where he belongs.

His hands pull away from your body, his eyes scanning your face only to find that you were fast asleep. He could wake you up and tell you to go pee, but like a puppet, his own fears pulled on the strings as they desired—his feet carry him towards your door in speed record. Glancing one last time at the pot you left outside, he closes the door.

Even as he drives back to his place, Hanma can’t brush off the burning sensation sitting heavy on his chest.

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[wifetomegatron]

countries and cities i've been to that i think the lost light crew will enjoy (vol. i)

i think ratchet would like switzerland. snowy alps, open green fields where purple and yellow poppies littered across the grass dance with the northern wind. he enjoys the secluded valleys and will spend hours just driving past the topaz lakes. he likes the quiet of it all, the serenity, the closure. he makes drift join him in their holoforms to walk, taking in the traditional log houses and brightly-colored buildings, shops, and restaurants surrounded by lush woodlands, upland meadows, and snow-capped cliffs. grindelwald because drift is fascinated by humans and their winter sports, ascona for when it gets warmer and the boats are out by the docks. in a first contact au, ratchet would most likely end up working in either zurich or geneva, working closely with earth's international bodies like the united nations to facilitate human-cybertronian relations. i can also see the medic crew stationed there as well; running the first cybertronian medical facility on earth.

drift, predictably, would prefer japan more. osaka and tokyo for its entertainment, where he and rodimus would spend hours exploring the nightlife in their disguises. at times, they would even go as their alt-modes. rodimus gets ahead of himself with all the attention he's getting. he'd travel through many prefectures, driving past the borders to clear his head — perks of having a conjunx that works closely with human organizations is that he gets exempted from all the paperwork — but always end up somewhere private, tranquil. the shrines, the forests, the mountains — he would even be bold enough to dream of settling down there. one time ratchet flew in to visit him at a resort by the foot of mount fuji, and his husband was neck-deep inside the natural saunas. content and purring, sinking into recharge against the stones.

i have a feeling brainstorm and skids would stir up trouble somewhere in the netherlands. most likely in the infamous lecture halls of leiden university, where great minds like descartes and rembrandt once walked in. they'd hate the weather, where the sun becomes optional the moment it hits autumn (even before, apparently.) the roads are small, so they'd have difficulty navigating at first, nearly driving into a canal because of how fast people bike. direct, with just the right amount of witty, the pair are glad to enjoy the company of dutchies without having to rely on their (human) food because nothing that they've seen looks appealing or digestible. getaway is also there, most likely in amsterdam, where his holoform is most likely to get cornered in an alley and have his bike stolen.

nautica would love the sea, the vast, great open oceans of southeast asia would be the perfect place for her. ever the adventurer, she would drag riptide and velocity with her to explore the islands of the philippines & indonesia. where she'd learn how to dive and swim with the animals past the coral reefs. sweet girl nearly cried when she saw a group of whale sharks. anode and lug are content sitting by the beach, sipping on their latest invention — coconut-infused energon. bali is where i imagine the girls ( and riptide ) would go for a nice getaway. the people are all smiles, warm and friendly, and passionate about their culture. even if the two are more inclined towards the sciences, the flourishing art and spirituality of the balinese people made them feel at home again. ( if not nostalgic for caminus.)

i know rodimus is living his life in spain. maybe it won't be his designated home on earth. but with the lost light stationed in geneva, where ratchet, minimus, and megatron are with the rest of the united nations council ( because there is no way they can park the ship anywhere in the new york branch ), barcelona was his first solo trip on earth without straying too far from his co-captain's watchful eye. it was the peak of summer and there he was under the sun. the people were only initially surprised, but then again, they'd probably seen weirder things than a sixty-foot-tall robot asking them if he could join their game of volley by the beach. he bumps into krok and his rag-tag team — who's also trying to get away from minimus — so that's how he and misfire end up nearly drowning after a competitive game of water tag.

[adore-laur]

JOYRIDE

— corruption in tokyo brings two partners together again to seek retribution while also fulfilling their desires🚦

ハリー

Midnight in Tokyo. 

The city transforms into a neon jungle once the moon takes the stage. Illusionary indigo and hot pink advertisements scale the sides of skyscrapers, their vibrant pixels reflecting off the slick thoroughfares bestrewed with puddles. Cosmopolitan emporiums attract visitors like clusters of moths drawn to a flame, ranging from luxury retail stores to vintage boutiques that line the sidewalks. Many diverse eateries sit snugly in the passageways—the limited seating is where conversations are struck with writers and poets alike. Whimsical art sculptures placed in hidden spots showcase Japanese culture, and the expressive pieces greet tourists from around the world. 

It's an urban utopia straight out of a futuristic fantasy. 

Digging deeper into the complex metropolis, right in the heart of the infamous Kabukicho District, is where nightlife is most vivacious. Foreigners flock to clubs and bars for ritzy entertainment and exuberant thrills. Alleyways conceal doorways to more private establishments, their explicit thresholds exposed by flickering arrows that guide those who dare to enter. It's sinfully atmospheric, with the smell of smoke and sex lingering past the brick walls lit by dangling paper lanterns. 

The vicinity is two sides of the same coin. In the daytime, families wander through a maze of honorable restaurants and hotels, but at night, the devil comes out to play. Risqué signs lead to unlawful pleasure. Curtains cover hostess clubs of endless inebriation. Intimate shops are out in the open to pique the interest of innocents. 

However, on this rainy November night, Harry Styles seeks only one unholy cove. He doesn't need to be lured into it by silhouetted street hawkers. Ignoring them is easy when the red light just around the corner holds his true desire. 

As his polished dress shoes clack against the wet pavement, a black umbrella looming over his head, he fishes into his trouser pocket to snag a piece of chewing gum. He unwraps the aluminum, pops the green gum into his mouth, folds the rubbery substance using his tongue, stretches it between his two front teeth, and then bites down on it with his back molars. A refreshing burst of spearmint hits the back of his throat, crisp and cool. He begins whistling a catchy tune he heard on the metro subway the other day, the trill echoing off the narrow walls surrounding him. The new graffiti on them catches his attention. Considering the city strictly prohibits street art, it's a rare find, so he admires the esoteric visuals before they're removed by patrolling police. 

Taking a sharp left, the top of Harry's shadow reaches his destination before he does. He stops in his tracks and breathes in the hazy air. Smoke seeps under the rusted garage door, and the muffled bass coming from inside is a straight injection into his veins. The Japanese script, emboldened by neon red, spells out the name of the strip club. 

ジョイライド 

JOYRIDE 

Guarded by a towering man in a black suit and maroon tie, it's the only barrier left. Luckily, Harry is well-versed when it comes to sneaking into elite establishments. He shakes his umbrella out, the droplets creating ripples in the asphalt pools beneath his feet. A step under the hipped awning saves his expensive clothing from becoming soaked. His long, houndstooth blazer of a dreary gray color and a dotted scarf wrapped once around his neck make him blend in nicely with the darkness. 

Harry clears his throat and politely bows to the daunting watchman. "Kobanwa," he greets, hiding the gum under his tongue out of courtesy. (Good evening.) 

"Kon'nichiwa," says the man with a reciprocated bow. "Anata no mōshide wa nanidesu ka?" (Hello. What is your offer?) 

Opening the breast pocket of his blazer, Harry plucks out three bills. He unfolds the creased paper one by one, revealing the printed face of an esteemed writer and a five-digit number representing a hefty amount of yen. His desire is worth significantly more, but he'll undoubtedly be spending the rest of what's tucked in his wallet for reasons that will never be publicly disclosed. 

"Sakura," Harry says with unwavering eye contact. 

He only needs to say a single name for the man to stare back in challenge for three seconds. He then takes the yen and inspects it for possible counterfeits, his nimble fingers flipping the banknotes over with a particular procedure. After an anticipatory moment of crinkling sounds and drowned-out electronic music, he raps a rhythmic knock on the garage behind him. It instantly lifts with a grinding creak, the smoke releasing from underneath and crawling up Harry's legs like ivy on a brick wall. 

"Anata no norimono o tanoshinde kudasai." (Enjoy your ride.) 

Harry gives the man a fixed smile and then enters his paradise. Weeks of lousy business trips that required him to globetrot across continents have led to this. Tokyo always has something sensational in store for him. He comes back to the sleepless city time and time again for the unpredictability. 

Disappointment doesn't exist here—escapade does. 

The metal stairs leading to the underground club are grungy and steep, so Harry uses the shaft of his umbrella as a makeshift cane to traverse down the dilapidated steps. Every footfall ends in a squeak until he reaches the velvet carpet at the bottom. Thumping music loudens, the scent of cigarettes grows stronger, and the beat of his heart pounds faster in anticipation. 

Red curtains are suspended in front of him, and distant chatter that eclectically ranges from foreign to familiar dialect echoes from behind them. Harry sets his umbrella by the nearby coat rack, then takes his scarf and blazer off to hang them next to a pristine suit jacket. He takes a glimpse at his own suit. It's black cashmere with a contrasting white button-up underneath and a silk tie. He adjusts the collar, tugs on the lapels, and swiftly unclasps the single button. With a final ruffle of his flattened hair and a crack of his neck, he's ready for total immersion. 

Pushing the curtains aside, he crosses the threshold. There's no turning back now. 

The seductive ambiance immediately invades every one of his senses. There's red everywhere. The spacious room holds the key to subliminal distraction, from the ruby wallpaper to the vermillion leather booths. It's a sub-rosa room where players can have fun after dusk. Every soul that wanders in leaves with a newfangled perspective on the divine beauty of women. At least that's what Harry left with the first time he traipsed in as a fresh face from Europe, a wax-sealed invitation in his hesitant grasp. 

He wouldn't call himself a loyal customer, per se. He's not dependent on the half-empty glasses of Yamazaki malt whiskey presented to him on serving trays, only to be respectfully declined. Nor does he come for the puffed cigars and joints perched between persuasive fingertips and lips. 

No, it's the stage in his peripheral vision that he floats toward. It's where his desire lies. 

His Sakura. 

She's on the round stage amid her nightly performance, one leg hooked around a silver pole protruding from the middle of the platform. A red spotlight shines down on her contorted body, her limbs reaching out like the slender branches of a cherry blossom tree. Her long hair is snaked into six braids, four twisted up high and two tinier ones falling over her forehead. The audience of men, some standing close and some sitting in booths, piercingly whistle over the loud music while throwing wads of yen at her as she spins into an upside-down position with ease, gripping the pole using just her ankles. It gives everyone a full view of her leather bodysuit, the glossy black material with cutouts revealing peeks of smooth, brown skin. 

Harry stuffs a hand in his pocket and lingers at the back of the club, where no one can pester him with invasive questions about his intentions. They don't understand. He's not here to 'get some,' as they often assume. Sure, he'll leave the place feeling satisfied, but they don't know he gets to take home the woman they're currently fawning over. 

Her pole dancing performance nears its end, with a final layer of smoke hovering over the circular platform. The mystique she exudes as she slides into an effortless split is tantalizing. Harry swallows thickly as his hand curls into a fist, every fiber of his being practically itching to be alone with her. He never grows tired of watching her, yet he's utterly addicted to what happens in their designated private room. 

The red spotlight switches to a bright white, and his Sakura smiles dazzlingly while collecting the bills thrown her way. Harry smirks and applauds, then pushes off the wall to give her his own special offering. This part seems to always occur in slow motion for him. His eyes are locked on her as he waits until she catches his hypnotic gaze. He weaves through the crowd while chewing on his now flavorless gum, mumbling apologies when he bumps into people's drunken sways until he finally reaches the stage. Slightly opening his suit, he reaches into the interior breast pocket and pulls out a plucked cherry blossom. Technically speaking, he breaks the law every time he acquires the pink symbolism of human existence, but it's of little consequence to his morals. He has much worse crimes under his belt. 

Harry gently holds out the blossom amidst the flying yen, a pastel pink delicacy in a sea of brown riches. The following moments play out like a scene in a movie. Time seems to freeze as he homes in on the sound of her high heels clicking closer. He steadily looks up, taking in her tall legs and heaving chest. She tucks a few yen in the tight seam of her bodysuit, then provides him with her undivided attention. 

"For me?" she mouths over the deafening music. 

His lips break into a wide smile at the sound of her euphonic voice, which he so longingly missed. "Always for you."

Bending down, she takes the cherry blossom from him and brings it under her nose. Her eyes flutter as she smells the fragrant flower. It's flattering that no matter how often she's received one, she still sticks it behind her ear like she does now. 

The surrounding men marvel over her, but they'll be distracted soon enough. Two more poles emerge from the stage, and a group of stripper girls come out to continue the regularly scheduled show. Harry doesn't lose focus on his Sakura, simply backing away slowly and jerking his head toward the VIP rooms. It's a drill he aims to follow through with zero problems arising. Almost everyone here is a stranger, so that means they cannot be trusted in the slightest. It's why he doesn't speak to them. If any outsiders find out about the dirty business he deals with on the side, it's a downhill slope into deep trouble. 

Harry stops at the opposite side of the room and faces another security guard, but this time, it's one he knows quite well. "Ryōji," he says while bowing. "O-genki desu ka?" (How are you?) 

Ryōji bows and withdraws a small gold key from one of the ten hooks behind him. "Okaeri nasai," he responds. (Welcome back.) 

Welcome back, indeed. Harry quickly glances around and then places a heavy hand on Ryōji's shoulder, leaning in so no one else can hear him. In English, he murmurs, "We've got another one out back. Do you think you can get some men to handle it before sunrise? I'll have the money sent to you by next week." 

The deep inhalation Ryōji takes always makes him nervous. A dreadful silence passes before he says, "Yes, sir. Any special instructions?" 

Harry gives him a friendly pat on the arm and takes the key. "Just the usual. She already took care of the hard part." 

"As you wish." 

With that, Harry gratefully nods and then walks into the back area, where several red doors, some open and some closed, present themselves in a semi-circular fashion. Steering to the right, he throws his gum away and goes to the door with a black '七' on it. 

Lucky number seven for a joyride in heaven. 

The room is a perfect size, with curtains hanging over the walls for a more intimate experience. Two velvet couches are placed on either side, and a table with glasses and a bottle of an unknown alcoholic drink sits nearby. And, of course, a red light emits from the low ceiling. 

Harry gets comfortable, tugging on his pants legs and sitting on the plush couch. Precious time ticks by, the songs slowing into more sultry beats as he waits. He checks his diamond-encrusted wristwatch—it's half past midnight, yet he doesn't feel tired. Maybe it's the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Only the mysterious aura of Tokyo can give him an electric charge like no other. 

At last, Desiree struts into the room and daintily falls sideways into his lap. Her stripper name is Sakura, but her real name is used when she's alone with him. She jumps right in and holds his scruffy cheek, kissing all over his face as the red lipstick she wears stamps evidence on his flushed skin. 

"I've missed you," she whispers in his ear. 

Harry holds her waist and rolls his hips for some relief. "It's all my fault, isn't it? I've been so busy." 

Desiree takes the key from him and quickly locks the door. When she returns, she straddles him and says, "You came back to me, though." 

He nips her neck, short and tender. "I got your text message and flew straight here." 

She grips his chin. "That message wasn't about seeing me." 

Harry swallows thickly, his throat suddenly parched. "We don't need to talk about that right now," he murmurs. 

"But it will be dealt with?" she asks, her eyebrows dipping with concern. 

"Yes, my love." 

"Okay." She gently passes her thumb over his eyelashes like they're pages of a well-loved book. "That's all I need to hear." 

Harry distracts himself from the dangerous subject by twirling one of her braids around his pointer finger. "I like it when you wear your hair like this, Desi. So pretty."

"Yeah?" 

"Mm-hmm. I've gone far too long without you." 

She begins loosening his tie. "Tell me what you need." 

Sifting through his brain, Harry contemplates his options. The club doesn't allow actual intercourse inside its perimeters, so there are limited, albeit creative, methods that are used. Desiree once told him that the strippers are given a manual of all the diverse ways they can please a customer. There was a specific one he heard her briefly mention in passing. At the time, he was too shy to ask for more details, so he went home and researched the term. Needless to say, it sounded worthwhile. 

"Can I have the... red light special? Is that what it's called?" 

Desiree smirks and remarks, "That's new. You've never asked for that before." 

He blushes with a lackadaisical shrug. "Sorry. Being edged just sounds really fuckin' good right now." 

"Why are you apologizing?" She pushes lightly on his chest so he can comfortably lean against the couch. "Relax. Let me take care of you." 

Harry couldn't possibly argue, especially when she doesn't waste any time and starts with a green light. Gripping his shoulders, she smoothly rocks into his body with quick movements. His hands knead her ass, the bodysuit bestowing the perfect amount of skin for him to grab. The tension in his muscles eases as she applies pressure to his growing bulge, every perpetual grind making him harder by the minute. His eyes and neck roll back, and he forgets why he was ever stressed hours prior and instead succumbs to the satisfying ache she provides him. 

"Oh, my God," Harry moans, spreading his legs further apart. "Fuck, Desi, you feel so good. I'm all yours." 

She bites her bottom lip and moves her hips counterclockwise. The switch has Harry gritting his teeth. Shuddering, he opens his mouth and pathetically whimpers while running his hands up her clenched thighs. He feels hot—sweaty, sticky, and salaciously hot. He's burning in a blitz of fiery passion. 

The yellow light is when Desiree slows down, still grinding swivels over his pelvis. The throbbing of his cock ceases, and the buildup disappears momentarily. Her back arches as she uses her height over him to palm him with her hand. Leisurely, she squeezes where the head of his cock is through his pants, and a sensitive tingle rushes down his spine as he bites down on his knuckles to suppress his pleading noises. 

"Does that feel nice?" she asks, kissing his slack jaw. 

Harry's face crumbles in submission. "I need to come. I can't take it anymore." 

Red light. He knows he asked for it, but when she stops moving and stands before him, he reaches for her absent touch. "No, come back. C'mon, please. Stop playing around." 

She ignores him and kneels on the ground. With one finger, she trails it up his inner thigh until it reaches his covered cock. She fondles the length of it, erotically squeezing in all the right places while looking at him with eyes of a rich brown color. He often dreams of her mouth puckered around it, her wet lips and hollowed cheeks making him fall apart. 

Suddenly, his tie is removed, and Desiree holds it up. "Are you ready?" 

"I'm so close," Harry breathes out. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he adds, "You're so gorgeous; do you know that? Got me... shit, I'm absolutely aching for you." 

She stuffs the tie in his mouth and finally straddles him again, riding his thighs to bring him to his peak. His moans are muffled against the fabric as she gives him a lap dance, her body rolling to the R&B music from the distant speakers. 

It doesn't take long for Harry to come; a damp spot forms on his pants shortly after. Every part of his body feels light as he spits his tie out, breathing heavily. He really needed this. 

"Ready to leave this place?" he asks, touching himself until he's soft and able to walk.

Desiree kisses him, her tongue delving into his mouth, before nodding. "Are you taking me on another joyride?" 

Harry smirks and wipes off the lipstick stain she left on the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Full throttle, baby." 

——

デザレイ 

The first thing Desiree sees when rounding the corner of the alleyway is a parked Kawasaki motorcycle. 

The rain has let up; only a light drizzle is now falling from the starlit sky. People still pass by with umbrellas, minding their business. The lights outside are stimulating, with signs above casting fuchsia pink and Prussian blue hues over her and Harry's faces. The air reeks of gasoline and smoke, and vehicles are racing past to hop on the expressway. It's a city of nocturnal souls who get off on cheap thrills, and she couldn't help but get hooked on the appeal. Night crawling on a high-speed bike through the neon streets is the most thrilling adventure she can imagine. 

Harry rents out a different motorcycle every time he visits. When they first met, he told her he owned a marketing firm in London, so he had the money to afford such luxuries. The first time he walked into the club, she thought he would be like everyone else—a drunk and lonesome man needing attention. However, he was actually a man of innocence who stumbled upon an underground scene he wasn't expecting. She saw the intrigue in his eyes and taught him how her world worked. She let him choose what he desired without taking advantage of him. She trusted his intentions and let him see every side of her, saintly or sinful. 

Their journey leads to the eager way he's looking at her now, one gloved hand holding out a helmet and the other gripping the motorcycle's handlebar. 

"Ladies first," he says with a playful smile. 

Desiree tightens the belt on her blood-red leather coat and puts the helmet on. It rubs uncomfortably against her hair, but she's not one to place beauty above safety precautions. She then hikes a leg over the back seat, and Harry does the same motions while straddling the front seat and starting the engine. It rumbles to life when he squeezes the clutch, and he attractively revs the engine three times. 

"All good?" Harry calls out behind him, using the back of his shoe to kick up the kickstand. 

She wraps both arms around his waist and props her chin on his shoulder. "So good." 

Reaching back to squeeze her thigh, he speeds into the fast lane. For the next twenty minutes, the brisk wind blows in her ears, and the feeling of flying overtakes her entire body. She spreads her arms, and Tokyo comes alive just for her, blurry colors whooshing past as they accelerate through traffic on the winding expressway. They ride out of the district and towards Marunouchi, where the Shangri-La Hotel is located. With five stars and eleven floors of pure splendor, it's the best place to have a late-night rendezvous. 

When they eventually pull up to the hotel, a rectangular building made entirely of glass panes, Harry parks the motorcycle and kills the engine. Desiree carefully removes her helmet and fixes her hair the best she can. Her makeup feels tacky against her skin, but the cool air of an autumn night is refreshing. She looks over to see Harry do the same, his hair sticking up every which way. He sheepishly grins at her and rolls his eyes. 

"Hurry up," Desiree says through chattering teeth. She bounces on her heels, feeling the ache travel from her ankles to the tips of her toes. 

"All right, all right," Harry mumbles jokingly, holding his hand out. "I'll have a word with Raijin about the inadequate weather." 

"Studying Japanese deities, are we?" 

Interlocking her numb fingers with his, they head inside the lavish lobby and take the elevator to the seventh floor. The ride is quiet, and exhaustion finally catches up to them. After six beeps, a more prolonged one sounds, and the doors slide open. They walk down the narrow hallway to the back, where the suites are located. Harry swipes his key card and twists the door handle to go inside, Desiree following closely. 

The suite is as tidy and stylish as one would expect from a businessman staying there. Two designer-brand suitcases are stacked in the corner by the running air conditioner. A housekeeper must have cleaned and organized his belongings. Crisp white sheets on the king bed look quintessential for bundling up in. 

Desiree removes her heels and flops on the firm mattress. She blearily watches Harry open the mini fridge by the door, hearing the clink of beer bottles. Her assumption proves correct when one is thrown beside her, yet her body has no energy left to open the cap and drink the bitter liquid. 

Harry takes off his suit jacket and button-up, then sits against the headboard and spreads his legs on either side of her sprawled-out body. He takes a swig of beer, his jawline sharp and his throat bobbing. His bare torso, decorated with tattoos, looks like the perfect pillow, so Desiree shimmies upwards to lay her head on his abdomen. She listens to his subtle breathing.

"So, how'd you kill him?" 

Well, that's one way to initiate a conversation. Desiree snaps her eyes to his, staring at him a little funny due to her position. "Katana," she answers casually. "Quick and easy." 

He hums, sets his beer on the nightstand, and then delicately untangles her two front braids. "Made a mess, huh? Ryōji's men won't be too happy about that." 

She fidgets with one of her loose acrylic nails. "They've dealt with worse cleanups." 

She knew what she was getting into when she decided to work in Tokyo's Red Light District. There's no way to sugarcoat what goes down in the alleyways. It doesn't feel like a crime to her if she's getting rid of the bad guys. It's justified in her mind. 

Harry moves his hands to undo her bigger braids. "I know," he says softly, "but it's getting riskier. And more expensive on my end." 

Sighing, Desiree replies, "Asphyxiation is so boring, though. I like my swords." 

"Desi, I'm serious." He tilts her head to look at her straight on. "It worries me when you do those types of killings, and I'm not here to handle the outcome. What if something were to go wrong?" 

She frowns. "We're a team. You flew out to me without hesitation when I told you my plan." 

"Yes, but you act on impulse sometimes," he says, putting her elastic ponytail around his wrist. "I can't always do that with my job. You're lucky I was available." 

"So, you only came to help with the repercussions? Not to see me?" 

"You know that's not true. If it was, I'd be on a plane back to London right now instead of spending the night with you in Tokyo." 

"Just making sure," she says with a hidden undertone of insecurity. 

Once all six braids are out, her hair frizzy and free, Desiree sits up and takes her suffocating coat off. Underneath, she has a more comfortable outfit that she changed into before leaving the club. She internally debates whether she wants to go through the hassle of taking everything off, but before she can thoroughly weigh her options, Harry reaches over to open the nightstand drawer, pulling out something crinkly.

"I, uh, bought some makeup wipes," he explains while fidgeting with the package. "I didn't know what brand you use, but it's coconut, and I know you like coconut rum. There's no correlation, but it's the thought that counts, right?" 

Desiree is speechless for a moment. This is the first time he's done something like that. "Th-thanks. Can you help me take it off?" she says quietly. 

"'Course. Scoot over." 

She takes one side of the bed and sits cross-legged in front of Harry as he plucks a wipe. He folds it into a compact square four times and then hovers it over her face. His gaze wanders a bit before he starts gently swiping under her eyes. 

He speaks up again once the air conditioner clicks off. "Can I ask, pray tell, why you killed him?" 

Desiree breathes out a laugh. "Funny," she says as he scrubs the pigmented blush off her cheeks. "I remember when you couldn't even stomach asking me that question. Now you do all the dirty side work." 

Harry shrugs. "You're a bad influence." 

Sage advice from two people who dabble in reincarnating as a more sadistic Bonnie and Clyde: It's remarkably more fun to have a loyal partner in crime than to be a lone outlaw. 

"Let's see," she muses with a dramatic flair. "His name was... fuck if I know. All I was told was that he was a gang member who lured young girls in and brainwashed them into committing crimes around Shinjuku for money worth jack squat." 

"Jesus. What about the other gang members?" he asks, wiping her smeared lipstick off. 

"I'm not too worried about them. They would never suspect that a stripper at Joyride killed one of their own. They'll probably assume it was another gang's doing." 

"That's a relief." Harry yawns and tosses the dirtied makeup wipe into the nearby garbage. "All right, I've had enough killer talk. Shall we get some sleep?" 

Desiree grins tiredly and touches the smoothness of her bare face. "We shall. My body aches." 

Stripping takes a toll on her joints and muscles, especially since she incorporates performance art into her dancing. Untreated strains and torn ligaments have been left in the past due to years of training, but residual pain still lingers each night when she steps off the stage. 

Once they're comfortable under the sheets, Desiree curls into Harry's warm chest. "When do I have you until?" she asks reluctantly. 

He wraps an arm over her back and says, "Tomorrow night." 

She recounts all the times he's had to catch a red-eye flight immediately after they arrive at the hotel. Tonight, she's lucky she got him a little longer than usual. 

"It's better than nothing." 

Harry scrunches her hair and leaves a long kiss on her temple. "You can always come back to Europe with me," he murmurs. The scent of beer wafting through his breath is mouth-watering. 

Desiree shakes her head solemnly. "I can't. I belong here." 

"I understand." She feels him smile before kissing her head once more. "A cherry blossom should stay in Japan, right?" 

"Very clever." She closes her eyes. There's an elongated pause of internal reflection before she continues. "Listen, I don't want you to feel trapped. I don't want you to feel like I'm using you." 

Harry rubs the sore muscles around her shoulder blades. "I don't feel that way. I chose to get involved with how you live your life. If I'm being honest, I quite enjoy the danger of it." 

It's easy for him to say when he only has to deal with the business side of it. A pipeline of recruitment occurred where Shyla loosely hired Harry to hire men who would dispose of the dead bodies she threw in the dumpster behind the club. No one dares roam that haunted alleyway, which makes it the most adequate place to safely hide a killing. Then, he pays them handsomely in cash for successfully completing the treacherous deed. 

Desiree cups his cheek and whispers, "Please... just tell me if it ever gets too much and you want out. I'll find someone else." 

"It's never too much when your intentions are good." 

It's not enough. His safety is her top priority. 

"Tell me to stop, and I will," she says sternly. "Give me the red light, and I'll go to Europe with you. You can show me Buckingham Palace and that stupid clock—" 

"Desi," Harry interrupts with a thumb against her parted lips. "I will tell you if it gets to that point, okay?" 

She takes his large hand and holds onto it like it's the last time she'll ever touch his skin. "Promise me." 

"Yakusoku." (Promise.) 

His spoken oath doesn't mend the problem she has with herself. There's a constant battle whenever she thinks too deeply about what she participates in. She questions whether it was a mistake to get involved in cover-up assassinations and bring Harry into it. He used to be innocent. Someone who discovered the darker side of Tokyo is now stuck in the whirlwind of her immoral faults. Did she make him into a brand-new person? A monster? One that knows her crimes and prevents them from becoming exposed? 

Is it wrong that she fell for him in the process? 

She can never tell him. No, that would complicate things beyond the boundary lines she drew for herself long before she met him. There are too many risks when feelings are a factor—risks of turning on each other if there are relationship issues. Then there's the plain and straightforward risk of barely seeing each other in person. It's all too poisonous of a pool to dip her feet into. Her guard is up, and it's not coming down for anything or anyone. 

However, as Desiree drifts into a dreamland, she realizes her guard is lower whenever Harry is around. With his fingers soothingly scratching up and down her aching spine, she doesn't feel the uncertainty that always clouds her mind when he's not beside her. It clears when she awakes to the smell of brewing coffee and room service breakfast on a cart before she can even open her eyes. It gnaws at her boarded-up heart until the pieces chip away. What's left is a vulnerable girl who seeks refuge but can't leave a place of fortune and frisson. She's a moon in broad daylight. 

Does she want to be saved? Or does the red light call her name for a reason? 

——

[starshipreads]

review: in the miso soup by ryu murakami (1997)

192 pages / started nov 5th 2024 / finished nov 8th 2024

spoiler free!!

Summary: It's just before New Year, and Frank, an American tourist, has hired Kenji to take him on a guided tour of Tokyo's nightlife. But, Frank's behaviour is so odd that Kenji begins to entertain a horrible suspicion: his client may in fact have murderous desires. Although Kenji is far from innocent himself, he unwillingly descends with Frank into an inferno of evil, from which only his sixteen-year-old girlfriend, Jun, can possibly save him.

I picked this book up from the store on a whim a few days ago, mostly because of how cool the cover looked. I went into this book completely blind, and I am so glad I did. I got through the book in only three sittings, which is a rare from me. This is my first book by Murakami, and for sure not my last.

Kenji is such an interesting protagonist, and his relationship with Frank is what really drove the story for me and got me invested. The pacing within the first half of the novel was fantastic, and it really set you up with the fear that something awful was always around the corner. The eventual awful something (which i won't spoil) was very much worth the payoff, and honestly completely shocked me even though I was still expecting it.

The novel really paints a gritty, unglamorous portrait of Japan which isn't often seen in literature, something I believe is a staple in murakamis work, but I'll have to fact check that. The setting of kabuki-cho is a character in and of itself.

Frank is such an incredibly interesting character that I don't think I could explain it without telling you what he does. Once you read the book, I think you'll understand what I mean.

The third act was a little bit monologue-y, and some of the language is a bit outdated however. If you are sensitive to violence towards and the exploitation of sex workers, you may not be able to stomach this. Kenji is not an innocent character, he is well aware of how exploitative the sex industry is yet he still uses it for his own financial gain, not even mentioning his underage girlfriend. I believe thats what makes the story even more compelling. The more Kenji falls deeper down the rabbit hole of madness Frank leads him down, you start to doubt if he will make it out or not.

Critiques aside, I would 100% read this again and I would definitely recommend this to my horror loving friends and family! If you like psychological thrillers, you'll love this!

7/10

ty for reading!! feel free to follow me for more reviews plus other bookish related stuff!!

[charlesandmiranda]

Osaka 2/7 - 2/9 Tattoo, Dotonbori, Denden Town and Amerikamura

After we left USJ on 2/6, we continued into Osaka proper, which is where we spent the next few days!

A big reason we wanted to visit Osaka was mainly because of its appearance in the Yakuza game series, which Charles really really enjoys. There is an area called Dotonbori, called Sotenbori in the game, and Charles wanted to see it in person. (Here's a cool video we found of a youtuber comparing the game to the real location!)He was especially hyped for it because the newest Yakuza game just came out -- I'm sure as soon as we return, playing it will be one of the first things he does, haha.

Dotonbori is, similar to Kabukicho in Tokyo, an entertainment and nightlife district. However, a thing we noticed pretty early, while Kabukicho is essentially 24 hours and it's easy to see people turning in for the night when others are going to work, Dotonbori closes early. By 10 or 11, most restaurants are closed. The area is famous for a few food, specifically takoyaki and fugu (blowfish). Blowfish is toxic, as in, it will kill you if the chef cuts the lungs when tearing it down. The license for serving fugu is required for any chef serving it, and a few people a year get very sick or die from eating it at home. The area has a lot of large displays of crab, takoyaki, and other fish that are brightly lit and cool to see in person.

We spent a lot of time during our stay in Osaka wandering the Dotonbori and exploring, there are simply tons and tons of bars and restaurants there. Just walking up and down, and trying a lot of street food, was definitely a highlight, and in general represents a good amount of what we did. In some of the photos below, we tried wagyu skewers, candied strawberries, and a lot of kushikatsu, similar to tempura but uses a different batter. It may be the winner of our favorite foods we have had this trip.

On 2/7 at 1pm, Charles had a tattoo appointment at the studio Invasion Club. Headed by tattoo artist Hori Benny, Invasion Club is also kind of a fashion/lifestyle brand, with clothes and art drawn by Hori as recognizable as his tattoos. I was actually pretty aware of his art for a while, especially through instagram and looking at tattoo art online, so when Charles said he had gotten an appointment with Invasion Club, I was SHOOK. He has gotten very popular for tattooing sexy anime girls, which makes having him doing something from a 1980s food manga kind of fun.

The shop was cool, and Hori spent a few hours hanging out, talking to us, and redoing the design before doing the tattoo itself. The appointment, with hanging out, took about five or six hours. He was an incredibly friendly guy, and his work was exceptional.

After the tattoo, and most of the next day 2/8, we wandered around Osaka's Electric Town (aka Den Den town, taken from the kanji 電, pronounced "den", which means electricity) which is Osaka's equivalent to Akihabara, which we visited earlier in this trip. They're both areas heavily focused on things related to geek culture. I would say we actually had a waaaayyy better time in Den Den Town then we did in Akihabara. There was way more cool old collectible stuff to look at, and the shops were less picked over. We did a little shopping here, as well as along the main Dotonbori area.

The tattoo that Charles got is a panel from a manga called Oishinbo. It is about a group of newspaper writers that are trying to create a menu of the perfect meal. The couple in the series eventually get married, and there is a part of the story about takoyaki that includes a real shop in Osaka that invented it. We visited that shop. The experience was very unexpected, but delicious. Takoyaki is a savory pancake like batter with a large piece of octopus in the center. Most places include a sauce, mayo, green onion, fish flakes, and sometimes other toppings. The original shop includes no sauces or toppings, but instead puts dashi, a savory fish based soup stock, in the center. It was much more mild than expected, but we had two orders and Miranda, who generally isn't a fan of takoyaki, had several, so it was something worth eating.

From this point, we kind of had to make a decision. We left our plans at this point pretty loose, because we wanted a little flexibility in the trip; aside from meeting back up with our friend Penko in Tokyo on 2/11, where we'll spend the last few days before flying back out, we have very little set in stone on our schedule. That includes not strictly having a place to stay, either. We decided we would really like one more afternoon in Osaka, before heading to Kyoto, so we found an inexpensive hotel for 2/8 where we stayed for the night, and 2/9 we finished exploring the area some more.

In our wanderings 2/8 and into the afternoon of 2/9, we kind of accidentally wandered into an area called Amerikamura. There are a couple of theories of how it got its name, but one thing we noticed was that it's CHOCK FULL of vintage clothing stores. A lot of the clothing appears to actually be imported vintage clothing from the US which was pretty wild to see. It's a super trendy area, and we definitely did some people-watching, taking in the street wear fashion. It's actually been really interesting to see how fashion varies from city to city; I know this may sound silly or obvious but there really is a different "flavor" from one place to the next. Tokyo and Osaka definitely have distinctly different identities, and even areas within these large cities can feel totally different from street to street and neighborhood to neighborhood.

We brought a dozen or so Ninth Realm CDs to drop off at shops while we are here. We shipped some CDs to a well known shop in Osaka a few months ago and they sold out, but the shop is a fair distance from Dotonbori and we didn't make time to stop in, so we tried other places. I first stopped at a punk shop, but they said their customers aren't into metal and recommended another two shops. The first shop took a few CDs on consignment, but recommended we go to the larger shop. They were very friendly, listened to the album, and said "I will take all of them." When I told him I only had about ten left, he said "I will need more, these will sell in a few days." Hopefully we can ship more.

One of the very last things we did before we left for Kyoto was to visit a very sweet cat cafe, Cat Cafe Cat Tail! They had an exceptionally cute group of cats, but I think Charles and I each found a favorite, or maybe were chosen. There is a cat named Kurumi that must be.....a bit of a handful. No joke, there were signs all over that Kurumi hated to be petted on her body, she only liked petted on her head and neck, and she would scratch and bite if you petted her anywhere else. With some gentle encouragement from the store owner, she actually climbed into my lap and napped there almost the entire hour we visited; I barely got to say hi to any of the other cats, haha. And Charles instantly fell in love with a cat named Potato. He currently was wearing a cone due to an eye injury / something wrong with his eye, and also he is one of those like....smushed face cats, so he has all the same breathing issues like a pug does? Charles was DEEPLY MOVED by Potato to say the least.

After the cat cafe, we got a quick bite to eat and hopped the train to Kyoto, where we're writing from now! We'll keep you all updated soon, thanks for keeping up with us on this crazy trip!

[hoperays-song]

Assorted Suki Lane Headcanons

She is Aroace and uses she/her pronouns.

Suki ran cross country in high school and college on her schools' varsity teams and she still runs to this day, meeting up frequently with an old friend from college who was also on the cross country team to do so.

Her first job was actually as a babysitter, followed by being a receptionist at her childhood dance studio, and eventually an assistant coordinator for a few charities before she went to college.

While she is not a master chef, Suki is a pretty decent cook, having gotten used to making food quickly for herself between meetings.

She was in a dance class taught by Ryan's mom as a kid, causing her to have known the boy his entire life, especially since she was his babysitter throughout his childhood.

Her ipad has two cases, one that she uses for work that's more protective and a more casual one that's covered in stickers she's collected over the years.

While their relationship is a bit strained, Suki visits her parents every other weekend and they overall have an ok relationship at the moment.

Suki grew up in Tokyo but moved to Redshore at seven for her parents' jobs, leading to her eventually gaining dual citizenship.

Having known Porsha since the girl was a young teen, Suki is more used to her than pretty much all members of the cast, leading to her dealing with her whenever Buster and Mrs. Crawly can't get her to listen.

She went to Washington University in St. Louis for a degree in Communications and Marketing with a minor in Business in Entertainment. She is also currently getting a Masters degree in Public Relations.

Suki's paternal grandfather moved to Japan from Iran for school, meeting her grandmother there.

She was a star student throughout high school and college, graduating both with honors, even if it meant ducking her extracurriculars to get more study time in, much to her friends' annoyance.

Suki started working for Crystal Entertainment straight out of college and rose the company's ranks extremely quickly to chief communication officer.

She is allergic to buckwheat.

The moped she has was actually repainted by her upon getting it to be her favourite colour and she is extremely careful with it.

She is fluent in Japanese and English, and is semi-fluent in both Cantonese and ASL.

Suki is a morning person and does not enjoy pulling all nighters/working late, despite being in a city known for its nightlife.

Due to the events that occurred in Sing 2, Suki left Crystal Entertainment a few days later, and took on the role of chief communications and pr officer for the New Moon Theatre, bringing a lot of her best staff with her.

Suki and Ryan have stayed close throughout their lives, viewing each other as family, and even when Ryan was working for Klaus, they would regularly meet up to get coffee and just catch the other up with everything going on.

She would be a child of Athena in Percy Jackson and in the Oracle and Potions tracks in The Owl House.

[tokyowalking]

Akasaka, Tokyo

赤坂　東京🇯🇵

Akasaka is a district located in Minato-ku, Tokyo, Japan. It's known for its vibrant nightlife, upscale dining, and entertainment options. The area is also home to many business hotels and government offices. Akasaka offers a mix of modern buildings, historic sites, and green spaces, making it a popular destination for both locals and tourists.

[nothingbutfables]

In the Miso Soup - Ryū Murakami (Review)

Summary: It is just before New Year’s. Frank, an overweight American tourist, has hired Kenji to take him on a guided tour of Tokyo’s sleazy nightlife. But Frank’s behavior is so strange that Kenji begins to entertain a horrible suspicion—that his new client is in fact the serial killer currently terrorizing the city. It is not until later, however, that Kenji learns exactly how much he has to fear and how irrevocably his encounter with this great white whale of an American will change his life.

Review: The first half of the book is a slow-rise build of unnerving tension. At moments, I had never felt such unease while reading something. The narrative kept me wondering, stringing me along while Kenji spirals to discover the truth behind his client’s nature. Only at the climax does the true horror of the situation finally and fully sink in. However, the events that unfold in the book’s last third feel dissatisfying. The dialogue that ensues may be thought-provoking, but the way it structures the story’s end left me feeling like something was lacking. Even so, I believe this book is an unforgettable experience due to its near-masterful grasp of creating suspense and thrilling the reader up to its peak of events.

3/5

[cdawgcaps]

first let me thank you for your service because we need more connor posts on this website <3 second do you have a favorite video of his? or like a top 5 if one is too hard lmao

Ah, no problem! I'm sure there's like Connor stans on Twitter somewhere, but omfg is Twitter a pain in the ass to navigate. Tumblr is just made for unhinged fangirling :')

And omg favorite video? (Panics in having watched way too much of his content)

I really, really like his irl streams, and just chatting For his main channel: i love wacky weekend so much, and whenever he goes to do weird shit in Japan. As a top five id say: Opening Wish Products You Guys Wanted (Highlight Video) He was really just on his A game this whole stream, it was so fun to watch. I couldnt stop laughing. I Spent $2000 On Making A Yαoi Really love all of his voice acting videos, but this one he really showed his passion for it. I bought the audio book right after. It's so good. I Stayed in Japan’s WORST Love Hotel For a Night I actually think my favorite wacky weekend is on Chris' channel? the one with the snow monkeys. But this one comes to a close second. Playing Phasmophobia With Mouse, Nyan & Aethel (Highlight Video)

I love veingang/ratpack so much, and Nyan and Aethel were just so unhinged in this one. Tokyo's #1 Nightlife Area With Chris and Pete (Highlight Video) Hard to choose between all the IRL stream because i love them all. The RV Trip and both Cyclethon's are really great, and kept me entertained for several weeks, but this one is just good fun. Love when he hangs out with Chris, and and the addition of Pete just brings the bar up so much more. Anyway... Sorry, i didnt mean to write a whole essay, im just really fkn passionate lmao

[osharenippon]

'70s Harajuku (Part 1)

The Harajuku district in Shibuya has gained international acclaim as a hub of Tokyo's youth culture and fashion scene. Its streets are lined with cafes, boutiques, and well-known fast fashion stores, drawing a constant stream of tourists, fashionistas, and teenagers. However, before the arrival of billionaire retailers, foreigners, and media attention, this area's early inhabitants were the ones who truly shaped its unique character.

Several factors contributed to Harajuku evolving into a valuable and fashionable destination. Firstly, its location, accessible via the Yamanote Line and situated within the Shibuya ward, played a pivotal role. The vicinity surrounding Shibuya Station, located about 1.3 km north, has been a focal point for youth culture since the 1950s. Moreover, Minato-Aoyama, which borders Omotesando Avenue, has been developed as a fashionable place since VAN made it a hub for Ivy fashion, scattering its boutiques and facilities around the area in the '60s.

Another noteworthy aspect is the absence of certain establishments like sex shops, dingy bars, pachinko parlors, cabaret clubs, and love hotels. This is due to the city's designation of the area as an Education District, owing to the presence of the Jingumae Elementary School. Consequently, Harajuku maintains a safer and considerably less seedy atmosphere than other popular fashion and entertainment districts like Shinjuku, Ikebukuro, and the central part of Shibuya.

Despite this, Harajuku didn't become a famous, trendy area overnight. For decades, the district remained a quiet residential neighborhood with minimal activity, except for the annual influx of New Year's Day visitors who assembled at the Meiji Shrine. Yet, one distinguishing feature would set it apart: its international vibe.

In 1947, the construction of the Washington Heights complex, a vast housing facility for the US Armed Forces, transformed the landscape, prompting the emergence of local shops catering to international families, exemplified by the enduring Kiddy Land toy store. Kiddy Land, which still thrives today, became a beloved destination for the children of American soldiers and was the first shop in Japan to offer Barbie dolls.

Route 5, the fashionable drive-in eatery, photographed in 1965.

In 1964, Japanese authorities took back control of the land occupied by Washington Heights. The government repurposed the area and built Olympic facilities and athlete accommodations, further fueling investments in Harajuku. By 1966, the local nightlife began flourishing, primarily due to affluent teenagers cruising the streets in flashy American sports cars. They were drawn to cosmopolitan restaurants that kept their doors open late into the night, with Route 5, a drive-in eatery, being a notable hotspot. Right across the street from Route 5 stood an Adventist church, contributing to the area's foreign allure. 

Around that time, Harajuku garnered significant media attention with the completion of Olympia Co-Op, Japan's first luxury condominium development. But it was another residential building that shaped Harajuku's spirit...

Harajuku Central Apartments

Occupations like stylist, copywriter, designer, fashion photographer, and illustrator didn't gain recognition until the post-war period. They were referred to as the "katakana professions" due to their foreign origin and the fact their Japanese translations are loanwords, usually written in the Katakana syllabary. It wasn't until the 1980s, thanks to articles in magazines like AnAn and other fashion publications, that these professions became widely known among the Japanese public. However, starting in the '60s, more than a decade before becoming widespread, these creative individuals—already molding Japanese pop culture, fashion, and advertising—gathered in the Harajuku Central Apartments opposite the Jingumae crossing.

Central Apartments featured seven floors that accommodated offices, boutiques, and a café. The café that occupied part of the ground floor, Leon, achieved legendary status and was immortalized in fashion magazines as a meeting place for Japan's creative elite.

Harajuku Central Apartments photographed in 1980.

With the launch of magazines like AnAn, Non-no, and Popeye, which reported on Tokyo's fashionable districts, boutiques, and individuals, Harajuku gained recognition among trend-conscious individuals across Japan, and so did Leon, the trendiest coffee shop in Harajuku.

Unlike Chianti, the upscale Italian restaurant frequented by celebrities in the posh Nishiazabu area, Leon was accessible, unpretentious, and affordable. In fact, you could enjoy multiple cups of coffee for a fixed price, a rarity in Tokyo at the time. Nevertheless, its reputation as the haunt of Harajuku's most notable professionals made it an intimidating spot where few dared to venture.

The recurring theme in stories from young visitors to the area was, "I was just a kid from the countryside; there was no way I could summon the courage to enter." Even Tokyoites who weren't part of the inner circle kept their distance. However, Leon's large glass windows attracted the attention of passersby, who craned their necks and tried to catch a glimpse of celebrities and industry figures featured in magazines and on TV.

“LEON” in Harajuku/1972/Mike Nogami

Inside Leon, despite its no-frills décor and menu, it felt like entering a new world where only the most stylish individuals were welcomed. Everyone in the café dressed in the latest European and American fashion trends, and the music playing was the latest hits from London, New York City, or California. Since the café also served as an office for its customers, you could overhear Japan's most prominent fashion, music, and advertising professionals openly discussing their latest projects and loudly taking calls on the venue's pink telephone.

While the coffee shop served as Central Apartment's meeting place, it wasn't its only commercial facility. Harajuku's first boutique, Madame Nonnon, by legendary designer Taro Aramaki, opened in the building in 1964. It sold casual Parisian fashion, and its border (stripped) shirts were a big trend. (Even today, striped shirts remain a cherished staple of Parisian casual style in Japan, with trend-conscious women often sourcing them from the British brand St. James.). 

Madame Nonnon, considered by many as Japan's first boutique, shaped the exclusive aura of Central Apartments. Taro Aramaki was discerning in his clientele, only selling to those who matched the store's style. Prices were exceedingly high, and except for the striped shirts and a few select items, everything was either tailor-made or imported directly from Paris. Additionally, sizing was limited to XS, adding to the exclusivity.

Later, other retailers started occupying space in Harajuku Central Apartments, and the basement floor became a small shopping mall with stalls selling food and fashion items. But the biggest success story emerging out of the Central Apartments' shops is probably MILK.

The entrance of MILK's first boutique (left) and a glimpse inside Mademoiselle Nonnon, including its iconic border pieces, as part of an AnAn 1972 editorial (top right).

Under the direction of Hitomi Okawa, MILK initially sold women's clothes, mixing playfulness with the London punk aesthetic admired by the young designer. Eventually, the brand became a staple of Harajuku kawaii fashion with its girly designs and celebrity admirers. MILK influenced the rise of fashion tribes like the Gothic Lolitas and gained prominence, expanding nationwide. A men's line, MILKBOY, was launched in 1975.

MILK's flagship store is still in Harajuku, but not at Central Apartments. As a testament to how much the area has evolved and how things have drastically changed, the building met its demise in 1998. The place is now the site of the Tokyu Plaza shopping center. However, Harajuku owes a lot of its fashionable, creative cred to the existence of the legendary building, which brought some of the most avant-garde professionals to the area.

The Evolution of Harajuku

Harajuku has become so renowned that every facet of the district is well-known. There's Ura-Harajuku, the charming backstreets teeming with cafes and independent shops. There's the heart of Harajuku itself, which typically includes Cat Street and Takeshita Dori—lively thoroughfares packed with stores and food stalls catering to teenagers. You'll also find the bustling Meiji Dori and the iconic Jingumae Crossing, which doubles as the intersection of Omotesando. And, of course, there's Omotesando itself, the grand avenue lined with zelkova trees, home to the flagship stores of luxury brands that extend from the Meiji Shrine to the entrance of the stylish and equally lavish Aoyama-dori in the Minato ward.

In the '60s, however, there was no Ura-Harajuku, and Omotesando was just a tranquil and beautiful avenue with almost no buildings. Harajuku was a quiet, relaxing area of central Tokyo, catering mainly to its residents. While a few trend-savvy people gravitated towards the area due to its cosmopolitan air, it was a well-kept secret among them.

A fashionable girl walks in front of the Kiddy Land toy shop in Harajuku Kiddy Land in 1974/Alao Yokogi.

However, as the 1970s rolled in, AnAn magazine changed everything. The magazine frequently featured Harajuku alongside well-known Tokyo districts like Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Ginza. During this era, Harajuku hadn't yet embraced the youthful, inclusive vibrancy it enjoys today. Instead, it was an elegant adult enclave characterized by its upscale, intimidating boutiques, the accomplished creative professionals at Central Apartment, and the opulent Co-op Olympia and its wealthy residents.

After Mademoiselle Non-non, a wave of boutiques began to emerge. Model Mako opened the trendy MAKO BIS. London underground fashion, favored by the style-savvy, was available at Help and Suzuroku. Meanwhile, for those who preferred folk and boho-inspired garments, also trendy at the time, there was Violon and Hitotsume Kozou.

In 1970, BIGI, a women's ready-to-wear clothing brand founded by the husband and wife team of Takeo Kikuchi and Yoshie Inaba, opened its first store in Harajuku. Three years later, Rei Kawakubo inaugurated the first boutique of her now internationally renowned label, COMME des GARÇONS, in the same area. BIGI and COMME des GARÇONS, along with other brands created by emerging Japanese designers, set off the "DC Brand Boom," which would shape the domestic fashion scene in the following decade, a theme we will revisit later.

BEAMS, now one of Japan's largest retailers with stores nationwide, started in Harajuku in 1976 as a modest import store modeled after a UCLA dorm room. It quickly drew crowds searching for American brands featured in the MADE IN USA Catalog and Popeye magazine. During the same year, teenagers flocked to the neighborhood to shop at Cream Soda, a second-hand boutique known for its '50s-inspired rockabilly fashion, sparking a youth fashion craze. By 1977, a significant portion of Harajuku had been closed to vehicular traffic, transforming the area into what the Japanese refer to as a "pedestrian paradise." Stylish young people began congregating in the area to dance and flaunt their eye-catching outfits, mostly bought from the local Boutique Takenoko.

In 1978, a fashion building aimed at the youth market, LaForet Harajuku, opened at the Jingumae Crossing, just across from the Central Apartments. LaForet quickly gained fame as one of Tokyo's premier shopping destinations and continues to be a beloved fixture in the area today. Harajuku's transformation into a central hub for fashion was complete.

'70s Harajuku (Part 2)

[lvcky0ne]

｡:°ஐ basics 

✧.  stage name: hiro

✧.  birth name: minami hiro

✧.  birthday: may 26, 1995

✧.  zodiac: gemini

✧.  birthplace: tokyo, japan

✧.  ethnicity: japanese

｡:°ஐ personal

✧. personality: hiro has always been the restless type. easily bored, she is always chasing after something to keep her occupied. she finds socializing easy and has many friends and acquaintances, but very few people truly know her as she tends to keep herself just out of arm's reach, flitting above any personal intimacy. she turns to vices and self-destructive tendencies when she feels her life has been moving too slow or she is left to sit with her thoughts and feelings for too long. she likes to say she does things “for the plot.” a rebellious streak coupled with this has put her in the spotlight for many scandals; spotted in clubs, smoking, stumbling home on the arm of a man, but the only thing the company can do is damage control, all attempts to stop her have been futile. she can be temperamental and impatient at times, getting frustrated easily, especially when it comes to her creative expression. she is passionate about her art, but finds it hard to stick with something that is difficult for her.

✧. family

. minami katsumi ; mother 

. minami daichi ; father

✧. physical

. height: 162 cm ( 5’4” )

. faceclaim: hirai momo

. body mods: double lobe piercings, right conch piercing, double helix piercing on the right, navel piercing, several small tattoos scattered on her whole body

｡:°ஐ professional

✧. label: the lucky one, a subsidiary of rainbow entertainment 

✧. training period: 2 years as a trainee, then member of akb48; 2 years under rainbow entertainment

✧. group position: main dancer, lead rapper

✧. idol persona: she has a cool girl vibe to her, the rapper + dancer combination and her concepts that don’t shy away from being fun and sexy. she tends to be talkative during variety shows and will play up the fan service for fun, but she’s not afraid to sass back to hosts who may try and overpower her. her competitive streak never fails to comes out to play on game shows. her party girl persona is no secret, constantly being plastered all over the media for attending some club or party, and this garners her both fans and infamy. some say she doesn’t take her career seriously and she’s acting as a horrible role model for fans, while others find it iconic in an early 2000s paris hilton way. she’s not one to hide her opinions on certain aspects of the industry, most notably going viral for calling grown male fans weird. the internet was split on this issue, some people saying she was calling out creepy men who fetishize idols while others were butt hurt, calling her sexist and man-hating. she has the most sexualized image in lucky, with only their second comeback featuring her twerking in tiny shorts and holding other women on leashes, but she doesn’t shy away from it. although, admittedly, the hate and slut-shaming impacts her more than she lets on, she’s been known to lash out at haters online.

｡:°ஐ history tw ; mentions of parental neglect, drug use, csa

born to two wealthy socialites tokyo, her father a creative executive for akb48, and her mother a former city pop singer. they never gave much attention or care to their only child, treating her more as an accessory to their image around their famous friends than anything. when she was around 8, her knack for rebellion began and she quickly learned that her parents would leave her to her own devices if she just acted out at their fancy gatherings.

often left alone with just the small staff to upkeep their penthouse in tokyo, she started to learn things on her own. she skipped school often, going with her friends to buy ice cream or sneak cigarettes instead of attending the classes at her expensive private school that were way too boring anyway.

she found tokyo’s nightlife scene when she was far too young. 13 years old, wearing thick eyeliner and stuffed push up bras, she found a way in to clubs by sneaking in the back or tempting the bouncers. men twice her age buying her drinks and handing her pills, and eventually luring her to the side of the building to take advantage of her. she thought it was all ok, cool even. even when she would wake up with no memory but a sharp pain in her brain and sore all over.

when she was 16, her antics were beginning to get harder to ignore after being arrested for breaking in to a neighbor’s apartment after entering the wrong building when she was belligerently high. her father decided that she needed to put her energy into something more productive; making him money. so, he managed to get her a spot as a trainee for akb48. she thought it would be cool enough, performing for fans nightly, having people know her name. it put a damper on her partying for a little while, but she quickly became bored with the good girl act imposed on all of the akb idols and reverted to her old ways.

she managed to keep it under control well enough to make her official debut, but after being caught on camera, drunkenly mocking the group in a club, she was removed. to cover up the scandal and save face, her father shipped her off to korea to become a trainee at the struggling company of one of his industry friends, rainbow entertainment.

she resented being sent away against her will, but she was admittedly excited to be farther from her parents and their name. she also enjoyed the trainee program at rainbow more than she thought she would, the contrast against her akb training was stark. instead of learning mind numbing cutesy choreography with 50 other girls, she got to grow into her own creative expression. since then, she has opened up much more to the idol lifestyle and does enjoy the fame and attention of it all, but she still leans into her self-destructive, party girl life more than most in her life would prefer.

[casanovasoapland]

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[juusankai]

Chapter 1 -Introduction

Deva’s body ached, the muscles heavy and tired, carrying the weight of years of stress, fear, and brutality. Her life had long since become a blur of commands and violence, a loop echoing in her mind—

“Kill.”

“Kill.”

“Kill.”

The word rang like a bell inside her, so loud it drowned out everything else. She could hear it even now, her inner voice struggling to be heard under the harsh clang of missions from The Order, the clandestine assassin network that she joined years ago. Her hands trembled as she washed them, scrubbing the blood from her skin, though she knew the stains ran deeper, embedded into her soul.

The cold water ran red before draining away, and she watched it disappear, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was drawn, shadows clinging to her hollowed eyes, her skin pale against the deep red marks that speckled her dress, remnants from her most recent target—a skilled assassin who, like her, had been another pawn of the Japanese Assassin Association, for short JAA. She rubbed her hands together compulsively, as if washing away the blood might somehow cleanse her conscience. But her face in the mirror only stared back, empty, exhausted. “Who am I becoming?” she thought.

Deva had been raised for this life since she was twelve, when she came to Japan and joined the academy for assassins. She had never imagined herself in the ranks of the most feared assassins in the country, yet here she was—a weapon honed, her purpose reduced to the simplicity of obeying orders. Tonight, the echoes of battle still alive under her skin, she needed an escape, a break from the rigid monotony of blood and duty.

She left the building, drifting into the vibrant pulse of Tokyo’s nightlife. Shibuya buzzed with energy, a city of neon lights and hurried lives. People surrounded themselves with their little rituals: groups laughing too loud, couples leaning into each other, strangers in lines outside bars, all grasping at small moments of happiness. A shallow peace, perhaps, but a peace nonetheless. She inhaled deeply, letting the smoky air fill her lungs before lighting a cigarette. The first drag seared her throat, and she exhaled with a sigh of relief. “The burn makes me feel alive,” she thought, watching the smoke swirl into the night.

The thought of going to Ce La Vie, her favorite rooftop bar, crossed her mind. A dimly lit place, perched above the crowded streets, Ce La Vie had become a refuge, a place where she could nurse her loneliness under the sprawling Tokyo skyline. She loved the cocktail called The Corpse Reviver No. 2, a bitter concoction she could barely taste anymore. “How fitting,” she mused, “since I feel like a walking corpse myself.” Each sip felt like a ritual, a futile attempt to revive something lost within her, to stir some sense of self in the husk she had become.

Crossing the street, Deva made her way to the bar, navigating through Shibuya’s dazzling chaos. Shops glowed on every corner, filled with people seeking fleeting pleasures—fashion, food, drinks, entertainment. The streets were a tapestry of lives, stories brushing against each other, for only a moment. Deva felt like a ghost moving through it all, seeing but unseen. She tugged her coat closer, feeling the lingering warmth of her last job sticking to her skin. Anxiety prickled under her ribs; she worried she might have missed a spot on her dress, that some invisible stain would give her away. Each step toward the bar heightened her sense of isolation, and her thoughts grew muddled, spiraling into the lonely reality of her life. “I’ve become my own shadow,” she thought, feeling a stab of bitter irony.

At Ce La Vie, the bar owner spotted her instantly, raising an eyebrow. “The usual?”

Deva blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. “Y-yes,” she stammered, feeling the weight of her exhaustion. “But make it stronger.”

He handed her the glass, and she brought it to her lips, savoring the bitter chill of the Corpse Reviver. She lit another cigarette, letting the familiar numbness seep in. “Is this it?” she wondered, looking down at her drink. “Inhaling—one poison after another. The liquor, the smoke, the perfume before I leave the house. It’s always something filling my lungs, grounding me, reminding me I’m alive.” Blood, too—that irony-slick smell lingered in her mind, the faint metallic tang that haunted her steps.

Her life had become a rhythm of inhaling, exhaling, an endless cycle of taking in the world’s substances only to let them out, leaving her emptier each time. She had spent her years following orders, first from her family, then from the JAA, obeying commands for the sake of some higher cause—maintaining order, protecting citizens. But lately, even that purpose felt hollow, as if she were just a small cog in a larger machine, easily replaced, quickly forgotten.

Hours passed. Deva lost count of her drinks, each sip dulling the ache a little more. “Oh, stars,” she muttered, glancing up at the ceiling as the room swayed. She felt a heady lightness, warmth buzzing in her veins. She laughed softly, muttering, “Hell, I’m tipsy.”

Leaving the bar, Deva stumbled into the cool night air and called a taxi. Through the blurred windows, Shibuya looked different—so alive, so vibrant. She watched the faces, the lights, the colors bleeding together in a warm, intoxicating glow. In that moment, she felt a strange pang of connection, an unexpected feeling of belonging. “I’m a part of all of this, their world, their struggles,” she thought, a smile tugging at her lips. She giggled, the feeling strange and comforting in her chest.

The taxi pulled up to her home, a serene Japanese-style house tucked into a quiet neighborhood. She entered, breathing in the familiar scents of fresh linen, clean floors, and a subtle hint of lavender from the laundry room. Her space was immaculate, and warm—a haven she had carefully crafted, filled with small details she loved. Paintings of moon flowers adorned the walls, a soft glow cast from a paper lantern in the corner, the faint aroma of herbal tea lingering from earlier that morning. Here, she could pretend, even if just for a moment, that she was someone else, someone who came home to warmth, to voices, to love.

She shed her clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over her, the steam filling the room. As she scrubbed away the remnants of her night, her fingers lingered on her skin, imagining how different her life might be if she were not alone. She wanted, in a way that she rarely admitted, to fill her home with voices other than her own—to share this place, this warmth, with someone. But the thought slipped away like steam, dissolving into the empty air.

When she stepped out, the silence of her empty house pressed in around her. Deva dried off and dressed, then slipped into her bed, the sheets cool and soft. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the stillness settle over her. It was a beautiful, silent home, filled with everything she had created—but as she closed her eyes, a heavy sadness lingered in the quiet, like a whisper of all the things she couldn’t allow herself to have. And finally, lulled by the gentle numbness of the night, Deva drifted into sleep, alone in her empty bed.

[toptouristplaces]

Top 10 Must-Visit Tourist Attractions in Shinjuku

Shinjuku, one of Tokyo’s most vibrant districts, offers a mix of modernity and tradition, blending dazzling skyscrapers with serene parks and cultural landmarks. Known for its bustling streets, diverse nightlife, and cultural significance, Shinjuku is a must-visit for travelers exploring Japan. For those seeking unforgettable experiences, here’s a guide by TOP Tourist Places to the Top 10 Must-Visit Tourist Attractions in Shinjuku that truly capture its essence.

Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden Shinjuku Gyoen is a lush oasis offering a break from the city’s hustle and bustle. The garden combines traditional Japanese, French, and English landscaping styles, creating scenic views year-round. Spring brings cherry blossoms in full bloom, making it a prime spot for hanami (cherry blossom viewing). In the fall, the park transforms with fiery red and orange foliage. Perfect for a peaceful day of exploration, it’s an essential spot on any visitor’s itinerary.

Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building The Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building stands tall as an iconic part of Shinjuku’s skyline. Its twin towers offer free observation decks with panoramic views of Tokyo, and on clear days, you can even see Mount Fuji. The building itself is a marvel of modern architecture, and the surrounding plaza provides great photo opportunities. Visiting the observation decks at dusk is especially recommended for breathtaking sunset views.

Kabukicho Kabukicho, known as Tokyo’s entertainment and nightlife district, is lively and full of energy. Famous for its neon lights, restaurants, bars, and entertainment options, this district offers a unique glimpse into Tokyo’s nightlife. Strolling through Kabukicho allows visitors to feel the pulse of Tokyo, with countless dining and entertainment options at every corner. Just remember to visit the area responsibly, as it is a bustling nightlife hotspot.

Omoide Yokocho Omoide Yokocho, or “Memory Lane,” is a small alleyway known for its old-fashioned ambiance and tiny eateries serving classic Japanese dishes. With its lantern-lit pathways and smoky izakayas (Japanese pubs), the area provides an authentic taste of post-war Japan. Enjoy delicious yakitori (grilled skewers) and other street foods in a cozy setting while taking in the traditional charm. It’s a great way to experience a slice of Japan’s culinary culture.

Golden Gai Golden Gai is a hidden gem of Shinjuku, famous for its unique charm and history. This small area features narrow alleyways packed with tiny bars, each offering a distinct atmosphere. Many bars have seating for just a few guests, providing a cozy and intimate experience. With its traditional vibes and unique drinking culture, Golden Gai is a favorite for both locals and tourists. It’s an ideal spot to unwind after a day of sightseeing and meet locals in a relaxed setting.

Hanazono Shrine One of the oldest shrines Tourist Attractions in Tokyo, Hanazono Shrine is located in the heart of Shinjuku. It provides a peaceful retreat and offers an insight into Japan’s rich spiritual heritage. This Shinto shrine is dedicated to Inari, the god of prosperity, and often holds traditional festivals and events. During seasonal festivals, visitors can witness traditional performances and food stalls, giving them a memorable cultural experience.

Shin-Okubo Koreatown For those interested in experiencing a multicultural side of Tokyo, Shin-Okubo Koreatown is a must-visit. This area offers an exciting mix of Korean cuisine, K-pop culture, and unique shopping experiences. Try authentic Korean street foods like tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes) and Korean-style fried chicken, and explore stores selling Korean pop merchandise. With its vibrant atmosphere and diverse offerings, Koreatown is a refreshing change from the typical tourist attractions in Shinjuku.

Samurai Museum For history enthusiasts, the Samurai Museum offers a fascinating journey into the world of samurai warriors. The museum houses an impressive collection of armor, swords, and historical artifacts. Visitors can learn about the life, culture, and values of the samurai and even have the chance to try on a samurai helmet and armor. The Samurai Museum offers guided tours in English, making it a fun and educational stop for international travelers interested in Japanese history and culture.

Tokyo Opera City Art Gallery Art lovers should not miss the Tokyo Opera City Art Gallery. This contemporary art museum hosts rotating exhibitions featuring works by both Japanese and international artists. The museum’s sleek design and thought-provoking exhibits make it a perfect stop for those interested in the modern art scene. Located within the Tokyo Opera City Tower, visitors can also enjoy dining and shopping options in the same complex, making it a well-rounded cultural experience.

Isetan Department Store For those who enjoy shopping, the Isetan Department Store is a shopping paradise in Shinjuku. Known for its high-end fashion, cosmetics, and gourmet food, Isetan offers a luxury shopping experience in the heart of Tokyo. The basement level, called “depachika,” is especially popular for its gourmet food options, showcasing Japanese and international delicacies. Even if shopping isn’t on your agenda, a stroll through Isetan’s food hall is a sensory delight, offering a unique glimpse into Japanese food culture.

Making the Most of Your Shinjuku Experience

Shinjuku’s diverse array of attractions ensures there’s something for everyone. Whether you’re a history buff, art lover, food enthusiast, or nightlife explorer, Shinjuku offers experiences that will make your trip unforgettable. Here are some tips to enhance your visit:

Plan Your Visits by Area: Shinjuku is a large district, so grouping attractions by proximity can save time. For instance, the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building and Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden are close by, making it easy to explore both in one day. Try the Local Cuisine: Shinjuku’s food scene is incredibly diverse. From Michelin-star restaurants to local izakayas, there’s no shortage of dining options. Omoide Yokocho and Golden Gai are great spots to experience authentic Japanese flavors. Visit at Different Times: Some places, like Shinjuku Gyoen, are best experienced during the day, while areas like Kabukicho and Golden Gai come alive at night. Planning visits based on time of day can offer a more well-rounded experience. Respect Local Etiquette: When visiting shrines like Hanazono Shrine, observe proper etiquette, such as bowing at the torii gate, washing hands at the temizuya (purification fountain), and avoiding loud conversations. Conclusion With its eclectic blend of modern attractions and traditional heritage, Shinjuku offers countless experiences that capture Tokyo’s unique spirit. Whether you're enjoying the cityscape from the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building or immersing yourself in Shinjuku’s bustling nightlife, each destination has something unique to offer. As you explore these top tourist attractions, remember that each landmark reflects a different facet of Japanese culture, offering an enriching travel experience.

For more insights and travel tips, stay tuned to TOP Tourist Places, your ultimate guide to uncovering Japan's hidden gems and must-visit destinations.

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