Momoka Kato: Drunk Bar Pickup Gone Wild. The neon signs of Shinjuku bled colours into the wet streets as Momoka Kato stepped out of the bar, a soft flush blooming on her cheeks. Sake had a way of doing that to her, warming her from the inside out, blurring the edges of the world into something softer, something more…inviting.
The bar had been dimly lit, a jazz hum vibrating through the packed space, and the air thick with the scent of smoke and perfume. She’d been laughing with friends, the clinking of glasses and boisterous conversation a comforting backdrop to the evening. But as the night deepened, a different kind of energy had started to thrum in the air. Eyes lingered a little longer, smiles held a fraction more promise.
That’s when he’d approached. Kenji. She remembered the way he’d moved, confident but not aggressive, a slight bow to his head as he asked if she’d mind some company. His voice was low, a smooth tenor that seemed to brush against her skin even as she heard it with her ears. She’d said yes, of course. The sake had loosened her tongue, and something in his gaze, something warm and curious, had been impossible to resist.
They’d talked for what felt like an eternity, or maybe just fleeting moments—time seemed to warp and bend around the edges of sake-kissed conversations. He’d bought her another drink, a sweet plum wine that slid down her throat like liquid velvet. Their laughter mingled with the music, their hands brushing accidentally at first, then not so accidentally.
His eyes, she remembered, were the colour of dark caramel, and they seemed to see right through her polite facade, down to the little spark of mischief that always flickered beneath the surface. He’d leaned in close, the scent of his cologne, sandalwood and something musky, filling her senses. “Lost, beautiful?” he’d murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
“Just enjoying the night,” she’d whispered back, her own voice breathy. She wasn’t lost, not really. But she was definitely drifting, carried away by the current of the evening, by the pull of his attention.
Later, she barely remembered the journey from the bar. The city lights blurred into streaks of colour, the rain slicked the streets like a dark mirror. She remembered his hand in hers, warm and firm, guiding her. She remembered the press of his body close to hers in the taxi, the nervous energy that crackled between them.
Back at his apartment, things moved quickly, fueled by the sake and a simmering desire that had been building all evening. Clothes were discarded with a hungry urgency, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin as his hands traced the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts.
His mouth found hers, a kiss that wasn’t gentle, not anymore. It was demanding, possessive, tasting of plum wine and something fiercely masculine. Her own inhibitions, already weakened by the alcohol, shattered completely. She met his passion with her own, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more.
The night unfolded with a raw, unrestrained intensity. Whispers turned to moans, hesitant touches became desperate grasps. The bed sheets twisted around their bodies as they explored each other with a frantic hunger, driven by the intoxicating blend of alcohol and reckless abandon. The sounds of their passion echoed in the small apartment, a symphony of pleasure and surrender played out in the neon-drenched Tokyo night. This wasn’t just a pickup; it was a collision, a spark ignited in the smoky haze of a drunken encounter, a night where boundaries blurred and desire reigned supreme.
